


Happy

by mehlisssa



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Elriel, F/F, F/M, but can get cheesy, elain x azriel - Freeform, just realized how angsty this is, lots of fluff, nothing really explicit, seriously beware the angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-05-24 14:08:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 41,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14956103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mehlisssa/pseuds/mehlisssa
Summary: The love story that Elain and Azriel need and the happiness they deserve. Set after ACoFaS. Updates every Sunday!





	1. Elain

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfiction for Ao3 and for this fandom. I'm always open to constructive criticism and anything (respectful and appropriate) you'd like to tell me regarding this story, I'm open to hearing it. Thank you so much for clicking and I hope you enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nesta and Cassian leave for the Illyrian Mountains

Elain tucked her freezing hands into her coat pockets, teeth chattering as another gust of brittle wind rattled her bones. She looked around her at everyone else - Feyre and Rhys were hauling box after box of supplies ranging from fighting leathers to wine (“It’s not a damn vacation, Cassian,” Rhys had chided with a raised eyebrow. “Of course it’s not. Nesta is coming. The wine isn’t for a fucking celebration,” Cassian had replied, only half-joking. And at that Rhys hadn’t been able to argue).

Elain, for her part, couldn’t decide what to feel. Today, her sister and Cassian were leaving for the Illyrian mountains to deal with some sort of unrest that had been growing in the clans, partly in rebellion of Rhys and Feyre’s rule of the night court. She didn’t know all the details - no one had bothered to tell her. But she supposed she hadn’t exactly shown any interest either.

But their leave meant that Nesta would be gone for months - gone before Elain could figure out what to say to her. How to heal the rift that had erupted between them in those dark, fragile months after Hybern. So fragile, in fact, that Nesta had shattered, leaving Elain alone to keep herself together. And she’d barely managed that - couldn’t even be sure she actually had, or was simply waiting for the day where she would combust.

Elain was never one to pressure anyone, especially when it came to Nesta. Nesta had always been her protector, standing in the way of anyone she even thought would have ill will towards her sister. She didn’t care how harsh she was, how brutal and cruel, as long as Elain was safe.

But now Nesta didn’t even seem to care. She hadn’t visited, hadn’t even spoken to Elain except for a muttered thank-you at the Winter Solstice for the gift she’d given her. And those words, so filled with apathy - the kind that had never, ever been directed at her before - were like a knife to the heart, and she could do nothing but paste on a happy smile the rest of the evening, as if she wasn’t gazing back at Nesta every few seconds to see something, anything in her eyes besides a cold blank stare. She hadn’t.

But now, seeing Nesta stalking toward the carriage behind the horses and hoist herself in (after, of course, angrily slapping away the hand that Cassian offered her from inside, to which he only sighed and rolled his eyes) she couldn’t help but feel a twinge of longing. She couldn’t even bring herself to feel anger towards her sister - only sharp disappointment that made her feel like a dog that kept coming back, no matter how many times it was kicked.

Which, she realized, was what many of the people in Nesta’s life felt like - hoping for the attention she reserved only for the people she respected enough to grace with a kind and loving gaze. That left a sour taste in Elain’s mouth - because she’d once been a part of that circle.

She suddenly felt a warm presence at her side, snapping her out of her bitter monologue. She turned to find, not surprisingly, Azriel, staring stoically into the snowy flurries around them. It was like him to appear suddenly, leaving Elain unaware of him until he wanted her to notice him. She couldn’t help a small twinge of pride that he even bothered to initiate conversations with her, when he usually melted into the shadows at any sort of gathering - but she supposed that was rather pathetic and only spoke to show how starved of human contact she was that the only conversations she actually had were with Rhys’ ever-silent spymaster.

“Hi,” she said tentatively, throwing a smile his way.

He leaned his head down, returning a considerably smaller version of it, probably only to be polite. He didn’t look cold at all, standing tall in his black leathers, hands clasped comfortably behind him. Maybe I should get some of those . . . she wondered for a moment, but only for a split second, because it was honestly still laughable to her that she was in any way a part of this group. The only connection she had to it was Feyre, and that was a thin, frayed thread that hadn’t been used for so long that her sister had gotten married to someone else without telling her. Or mated. Whatever it was.

“Hello, Elain. How are you?” he reciprocated, forever polite and formal.

“Fine,” she answered automatically, struggling to keep a sigh out of her voice. Cassian was now checking on the horses, tightening saddles and brushing them. They’d be leaving in only a few minutes now.

“I meant with your sister leaving today. . . I haven’t seen her around as much,” he noted. Carefully veiled concern for her feelings that made her mouth quirk up a little. At least someone cared, even if it wasn’t Nesta. Even if it was probably just to make conversation and not because of actual worry.

“I. . .” she swallowed, and inhaled a deep breath of frigid air. “I’m not sure she’ll want to speak with me. I don’t even know why I came to say goodbye.” The thought simply spilled out of her mouth, completely uncensored.

“But you want to speak to her,” he said, not entirely a question. As if he could see her desperate longing too - and maybe he could. Cauldron knew what kind of magic his shadows had.

Elain found herself nodding, because she did. She really wanted to talk to her sister.

Just then, she heard Feyre and Rhys yelling bye behind her, waving and shouting as Cassian gave a mocking salute from the carriage, just about to whip the horses into motion.

Suddenly, a stab of urgency hit her at the sight of Nesta nodding coolly at them (the only sort of goodbye she deigned to give them), Cassian winking back at Rhys and Azriel. It’s now or never, she thought, and then her feet were moving. Kicking up snow as she ran towards the cabin. “Wait!” she cried out, grasping the ledge and staring into her sister’s eyes.

Lifeless. Emotionless. Everything she’d been avoiding since the Winter Solstice.

“Nesta. . .” she started, words drying up at the sight of her sister there, barely acknowledging her. “I-I’m going to miss you.”

Nesta’s answering gaze was so cold it sent shivers down her spine. She didn’t say she was going to miss Elain too. She didn’t say she was sorry. She didn’t even say that don’t-worry-I’ll-be-back line that anyone would’ve. She couldn’t care less about whether or not Elain was worried.

Nesta only replied with a dead-pan “goodbye,” staring at Elain only a second before turning away. Completely dismissing her little sister.

“I love you,” Elain blurted out helplessly, so shocked by her sister that she was grasping at whatever connection she had to Nesta left - their sisterhood. But either Elain was pulling at a string attached to nothing, or Nesta had cut it herself.

She could’ve sworn she saw a flash of pain in Nesta’s eyes at that point, but before she could make sure, she heard a crack of the whip from Cassian, and Nesta was yanked out of her grasp. Probably because Cassian wanted to save her from the heartbreak of her sister not saying it back - she knew he’d been listening to their entire exchange.

“Alright, everybody!” he shouted as the horses gained speed. “I’ll leave you to freeze your asses off in Velaris!” She thought Azriel had said something back, maybe laughed, but she could barely hear anything. Elain’s entire focus was on the carriage, slowly disappearing down the crowded roads of Velaris, soon just another vehicle out of thousands.

“Come on, let’s go inside,” she heard Feyre say to Rhys. “It’s freezing out here.” Elain vaguely registered the two of them and Azriel turning to go back inside the townhouse, but Elain couldn’t move.

She couldn’t move from the spot where it felt like she lost anything she had left of her relationship with Nesta, the one thing she had in those dreadful months after being turned Fae.

“Hey,” she felt a hand on her shoulder, and looked behind to see Azriel, his ever-solemn face gazing down at her with sincerity. “It’s alright. She’ll come around - you’re sisters. There’s no breaking that bond.”

Elain felt her face contort into despair at that, because what could he know? She had seen him laughing and sparring and drinking with Rhys and Cassian since what felt like forever. They always had a smile for one another, or whatever joke it took to make each other feel better. They had each other and had never known what it was like to not have that.

And Elain didn’t exactly know that feeling, either, until the day Nesta shattered. But now that she did, she wouldn’t wish it on anyone in the world. Least of all Azriel, who she knew thrived on the joy and love he got from his brothers.

“I don’t think so,” Elain answered plainly, aware and uncaring of all the pain that was on her face, in her voice. It was too much to pretend now, because who could she possibly be pretending for?

* * *

 

“Can I help?” Elain asked, really only a formality, as she stood in the doorway of the kitchen where Nuala and Cerridwen were preparing dinner.

She’d been coming down to the kitchens often enough by now that she probably could’ve simply dropped in and started cooking without asking. But, somehow, it felt wrong to do that - like a breach of Nuala and Cerridwen’s own personal kingdom.

And she never wanted to risk offending them, because her time down here in the cool underground kitchen was some of the best she had in the townhouse. When she couldn’t stand the feeling of how not-human this world was, or when her visions became too strong for her to bear in front of Feyre and the others, she would come down here. She would knead bread with Nuala if she needed to pound her frustrations into something else, or make stew with Cerridwen, stirring the ingredients and watching them swirl in a calming whirlpool, enough to quiet the raging storms in her head.

Today, it was simply a distraction she needed. From Nesta. From Azriel. From, well, everyone really. From perfect sibling relationships to sisters who’d practically abandoned her.

“Of course, Elain,” Nuala said, making space for her at the chopping board. Elain smiled at the informal use of her name. It had taken months of coming down before they had taken to calling her Elain instead of “Lady,” and it had made her feel even more at home in the kitchen.

She washed her hands at the sink and took a knife from the rack, grabbing a green pepper from the basket. She began chopping it in a slow, rhythmic motion, as if the sound itself would dull out the rest of her thoughts. If only, Elain wondered bitterly. But she couldn’t complain, because being here had already started to calm her nerves just enough so every thought of Nesta didn’t send a flash of despair through her.

“Guess what I heard from Madja,” Cerridwen began, a lilting tone that meant she was holding a particularly interesting piece of gossip.

That was another part of her time in the kitchen that Elain had found amusing. As Azriel’s personal spies that he’d apparently trained himself, Nuala and Cerridwen knew practically everything about everyone, and either reported it all to Azriel, or entertained each other with it, meaning Elain got caught in the crossfire.

“What?” Nuala prompted, leaning over to grab a ladle.

“Rhysand has stopped asking for his weekly contraceptive tonic,” Cerridwen replied, amusement dancing on her lips. “She sent it up to his and the Lady’s rooms, but he told her that he doesn’t need it anymore.”

Elain stopped chopping and looked up Cerridwen with raised eyebrows. Nuala mimicked her expression, a small smirk playing on her lips. “Really?” Elain asked. “A baby. . .” She mused aloud, trying to imagine a small Rhysand waddling around the house, or a miniature Feyre, clinging to her mother.

She must be so happy, Elain suddenly thought. Happy enough to consider bringing a child into the world. Elain knew she was nowhere near that sort of happiness, and that instantly dampened the mood she’d been in after she’d come down to the kitchens. How pathetic was she, compared to Rhys and Feyre? She had been given every comfort they had. Every indulgence. But she couldn’t stand to be happy for five minutes in their perfect world, while they were starting a family in it.

She couldn’t help the frown that passed over her face then, which Nuala and Cerridwen immediately noticed.

“Elain, what’s wrong?” Nuala asked, stopping her cutting as well.

And suddenly Elain felt tears in her eyes. There was no escaping her isolation in that moment. Her utter loneliness. Nesta had just thrown her out of her life, practically done everything except say the words. She wasn’t part of Feyre’s group of friends - Azriel and Cassian and Rhys had their own brotherhood they’d never let Elain see, and Mor and Feyre were such inseparable best friends that Elain was always left on the outskirts. Even Amren tolerated her with cool acceptance, barely saying a word to her. Nothing. There was nothing left.

But Elain couldn’t say any of this, so instead she mumbled something about feeling tired and I-think-I-need-to-lay-down and quickly hurried up the stairs so they wouldn’t see the tears that escaped her eyes.

Elain quickly trodded up to her room, swiping at her eyes all the way, until she stopped at her doorknob. Across the hall was Rhys and Feyre’s room, both of them probably inside.

You could go say hi she thought to herself, entertaining the idea. Congratulate them on deciding to have kids. The idea made her smile, because it meant she’d have an excuse to talk to her sister. Bond with her.

But then Elain remembered that it wasn’t like Feyre had told her this information herself. Just like Feyre hadn’t told her about Rhys, or about becoming High Lady of the Night Court. Just like she had decided Elain didn’t really need to know anything about her life anymore. Elain had no idea what her relationship with Feyre was at the moment, just that it was better than her relationship with Nesta - meaning it wasn’t nonexistent.

And that just made the tears fall harder, dragging a strangled sob from her throat. So Elain didn’t go see Feyre, and instead turned the doorknob, locked herself in her room, and didn’t come out.


	2. Azriel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elain teaches Azriel how to plant a flower.

“How is she doing?” Azriel inquired Nuala as soon as Elain’s footsteps faded. He still internally winced at the image of devastation on her soft, beautiful face when he’d tried to talk to her about Nesta, so he’d come down to consult with the two wraiths he knew spent the most time with her. 

And, as far as things went concerning Nesta, conversations about her were rarely painless. But he knew how much her sister meant to Elain, why she could barely stand to see her leave. He knew how much time they’d spent together, how protective Nesta was of her. He knew how Nesta’s love had meant everything to her, so much so that in the huge, strange, and daunting world of Prythian she could always count on her sister to be her shield. From her visions in the war. From goddamn  _ Lucien.  _ From . . . everyone.

When she’d ran up, obviously a split decision, to Nesta and Cassian’s carriage earlier today, he’d sent one of his shadows trailing after her.  _ For protection,  _ he told himself.  _ Just in case Nesta seems close to snapping.  _ But he didn’t try so hard to convince himself, because it was a piss-poor lie and he knew it. 

He’d listened to their bitter conversation with a pained expression on his face, unable to keep his hands from clenching when she’d stammered out the words he knew had taken so much courage and will from the sweet, soft girl. But her sister didn’t see that - couldn’t see past her  _ own  _ pain and rage, much less see how cracked and splintered her sister’s heart was. How much Nesta could help if she’d simply said  _ I love you  _ back. And she could’ve. 

But no, she’d muttered an apathetic “goodbye” that had sent his blood roaring for Elain’s sake, because she didn’t deserve this. She didn’t deserve a sister who could care less. She deserves someone who would cherish her and lift her up, and Nesta might as well have plunged a dagger into Elain’s heart the way she’d looked at Azriel afterward.

And that made  _ him  _ want to stab someone. But instead, he’d kept his face stoic and passive, doing his best to keep his anger contained in his own shadows. Just as he’d done all these years. 

Now, he’d seen Elain dash up the stairs face clutched in her hands, and any shadowsinger, especially one as old and skilled as Azriel could notice the tears and sobs that clung to her throat. 

Nuala simply stared at him, with a raised eyebrow, pursing her lips. As if to say  _ I know exactly why you care so much.  _ Her and Cerridwen were certainly some of the best spies he’d trained in a long time, but even  _ he  _ had no idea how deep his feelings for Elain went (where did you draw the line between general concern and actual  _ caring? _ ). Much less Nuala. But. . . he wouldn’t put it past her to speculate.

“Is this really something Rhys’ spymaster needs to know to protect the house? Or would it simply be seen as. . .prying?” Nuala countered, a withholding look on her face.

_ Shit.  _ It must be  _ really  _ bad if Nuala saw his questions more as a breach of privacy than a report, if she thought Elain’s condition was too personal to share with even Azriel. He barely let his thoughts show on his face, and simply gave the wraith a slow nod. 

“You could go talk to her, you know,” Nuala suggested tentatively, shadows in her eyes indicating almost. . .pity. Pity for the girl who spent so long with the wraiths instead the rest of the inner circle. The lonely girl who could only now find solace in underground kitchens and gardens, when she once had found it in her sister. “She needs someone to notice her.”

The spymaster didn’t let Nuala see it. His own worry for the female, who he’d just seen run out of the room crying. He didn’t even know if he wanted  _ Elain  _ to see it. Even though, as Nuala said, it might be something that Elain needed.

_ What if you can’t be that person?  _ He thought to himself, seizing up with anxiety. She was so fragile, so soft-spoken and sweet. He didn’t even seem to have helped her earlier today. 

But he couldn’t deny that he did care. And he  _ wanted  _ her to feel better. And between all of his anxieties and reasons to keep to the shadows, as always, because they were  _ safe _ , he knew that he couldn’t stand the pain that he’d seen in Elain today. 

But he didn’t know where that left him, and couldn’t bring himself to say the words aloud,  so he simply replied, “I know,” to Nuala, and left her standing outside the kitchen, gazing at the spymaster’s back as he walked back the way he came from.

As if he’d never been there at all, a conversation with a shadow.

* * *

 

The next day, Azriel had opened his curtains in the morning to find Elain kneeling with her gardening tools and apron in the greenhouse, winter flurries whipping back and forth outside the bubble of greenery.  Feyre had had the greenhouse built when she’d seen Elain stumble into the house one crisp November morning, runny nose and red hands, after kneeling in the frozen dirt for hours. As if she couldn’t help but go out that day, had  _ needed  _ to, no matter what the physical cost would be. 

Today, his heart jerked at the reminder of last night. Of Nuala’s advice. He stared silently for awhile, something that he was comfortable and felt safe doing as a spymaster for much longer periods of time, but today, he found an itch to be down there with her. Not hide in the shadows, but hear her gentle voice and see her ever-present smile. 

So before he could convince himself otherwise, he was shrugging on his tunic and pants, hurrying downstairs without bothering to say hi to the rest of his brothers and Feyre, and had made the trek to the greenhouse. He’d just opened the door and stepped inside, dusting snow off his shoulders, when Elain looked up from her work with a small smile she never hesitated to give him.

He tried to ignore the lurch in his heart at the sight of her, and opted for leaning against the glass walls and crossing his arms. A comfortable distance away. “How long have you been up?” he said, thinking of how early he’d woken up, and she’d already been  _ here.  _

Elain’s mouth quirked up a bit. “Since five,” she answered a bit sheepishly. “I. . .couldn’t sleep, and I needed to tend to the flowers anyway.”

Yet another subtle clue as to how she was doing. That she couldn’t sleep, and instead came here, to the warm, humid sanctuary of her garden. He suddenly felt as if he were intruding, seeing how comfortable and at peace she looked, shoveling the moist earth from the throughs and lovingly placing the delicate flowers in the holes. “I’m sorry if you wanted to be alone. . . do you need me to leave?” he asked, silently cursing himself. Maybe Nuala was wrong.

Elain suddenly looked up, startled. “No! Not at all. I-I like having you here,” she said.

_ I like having you here.  _ His mouth quirked up at that and he decided to come up near her instead, breathing in the scent of earth and hubris that enveloped her. “What flowers are you planting?” he asked, noticing the neat spirals of soft, paper-thin petals that bled into purple at their tips. So clean and fragile, so at odds with, well,  _ every  _ weapon, siphon, and shadow he was used to wielding. So delicate.

Azriel could’ve sworn Elain’s eyes lit up at his question as she answered, “Orchids. They’ve been growing here for a while now, and the high humidity is extremely good for them. They need quite a lot of water and definitely wouldn’t have survived if not for the greenhouse.” 

He knelt down beside her, reaching out a hand to stroke the petals. He huffed out a laugh, his fingers so big and rugged compared to the tiny petals. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d held something so breakable in his hands, let alone a  _ flower.  _

“What’s so funny?” Elain asked. “I understand flowers aren’t the most  _ interesting  _ thing on the planet but you did  _ ask-”  _

“Oh, no, it’s just. . . I don’t think I’ve ever even  _ touched  _ a flower in fifty years. This is all quite daunting for me,” he joked, and Elain let out a quiet laugh. 

“Wow, I never thought a tiny flower would be so intimidating to a 500 year old Illyrian warrior.”

“I’m just not used to it!” he protested, crossing his arms, almost  _ embarrassed.  _ “I don’t even know how to  _ plant  _ a flower, and you do it so. . .effortlessly. I honestly don’t think I could pick one of these up the way you do.”

Suddenly her smile widened and she stared at him intently. “Would you like me to  _ teach  _ you how to plant an orchid?” she asked playfully, picking up one of the plants.

He simply stared at her, an amused grin on his face, before he shrugged and said, “Okay. Show me how it’s done.” He couldn’t deny that she made him nervous, how at ease she was here compared to how uncomfortable he was, but it felt. . .good, coming from her.

“Alright, pick the plant up out of its po-- _ not by its stem Azriel you’re going to crush it!”  _ she cried out when she saw his hand fisted around the pencil-thin orchid stem. She lurched forward and pried his fingers away hastily.

She shot him a very un-Elain like frown, as if disappointed in her new botany student. Azriel couldn’t help the heat that rose in his cheeks at that, almost charmed by her intense love for her precious flowers. “Apologies, my Lady. How exactly am I  _ supposed _ to get the flower out?”

“You’re more of an amateuer than I had first thought,” she said, shaking her head, reprimanding him. “You scoop it up by its roots, and dig your hands in the soil, so you can remove the entire plant. Most of the flower is actually underground . . . transplanting it the way you did would’ve severed off so many roots.” She explained in an exaggerated tone, mimicking her instructions on another orchid plant.

He followed her directions, finding tiny fibrous roots spreading out way past and below the plants, just as she’d told him. “They’re so. . .small,” he said, marveling at how easy it would be to snap them off, just as he’d been about to. “Now I see why taking it by the stem wouldn’t have been a good idea.”

She nodded encouragingly, then gestured to one of the holes she’d dug in an empty piece of the row of soil. “Now, set it  _ gently  _ into the holes, and then,  _ equally gently,  _ cover the remaining space with soil, and pat it down.” She did so with her own demonstration orchid, darting him accusatory looks every time she said the word gently. Azriel couldn’t help but smile at her highly exaggerated disapproval.

He did so with his plant, feeling the Earth cake his bare palms as he patted the orchid into the new soil, making sure he did so in a manner Elain would approve of. He looked up at her with amusement. “Does this meet your expectations?” he joked. 

But she wasn’t looking at his face, but at the backs of his hands, still resting on the mound of dirt.  _ Oh  _ he realized with a start.  _ She’s staring at the scars.  _

Azriel had gotten so used to living with the marks his brothers had burned into his flesh, had been comfortable for so long now with his brothers, that he hadn’t even thought to how  _ Elain  _ would perceive them.  _ Shit,  _ he thought, resisting the urge to hide them behind his back like a child. Like he would’ve before he’d found Rhys and Cassian, before he’d escaped the dark, paralyzingly small cell his brothers had confined him to all those years ago.

“Where did you get those scars?” Elain asked softly, her voice barely a whisper. She still wouldn’t meet his gaze, focused only on the ugly scar tissue that marred his hands. 

He fisted his hands  in the cool dirt, teeth clenching. Even after more than 500 years, it still hadn’t gotten easier to talk about. Especially to Elain, whose palms were slender and fair, clean and gentle like the clean and gentle person she was. So at odds compared to the shadows he lived in. The shadows he’d  _ hid  _ in for most of his life.

“I lived with. . .two very cruel brothers for the first eleven years of my life. In a windowless cell,” he swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. Elain’s breath hitched, and the sound made it even harder to get the words out, harder to see past the pain that lay curled and intertwined in each and every scar on his hands. 

“They decided they wanted to experiment on me, as an Illyrian and-”

Azriel stopped, because Elain had moved her hands onto his, still and unmoving in the dark soil. She gently covered his uneven scars with her soft, perfect hands, cooling and soothing with the soil on her skin. She gently rubbed her thumbs on his, treating his hand as another one of her precious orchids, as if she could heal the scars with the serenity she poured into everything else.

She looked back up at him then, and he saw in her contorting expression and compassionate eyes that she didn’t need to know. She didn’t need him to be in pain, to relive the story that scarred even his heart for so long. She simply kept her hands there, as soothing and peaceful as the warm haven of greenery around them. 

He saw then, that Elain’s strength was not a hard and grueling kind that broke bones and shattered souls. It was a quiet compassion that she yielded and bestowed upon people she cared about, a gentleness to rival the chaos and pain raging in his mind in that moment. A peaceful touch or sincere glance to build someone up and bring them into the calm she established.

So Azriel stared back into her warm brown eyes, and didn’t look away from the comfort that he found there. And he let her drown out the pain with her own, special strength. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally had no idea how to plant a flower myself - all of this information comes from Google and basic instructions about how to take care of orchids. So I'm not even sure I'm right about any of this.


	3. Elain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucien comes to visit Elain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to upload the next two chapters early this week because on Sunday I'm going to be somewhere without any Wi-Fi. So, I hope you guys enjoy! Thank you so much to everyone who read this book so far!

Mates - it was a word Elain didn’t know how to feel about. It was a word that meant whenever Feyre saw Rhys come into a room, she would stop whatever she was doing to go talk to him, always with a smile and a touch on the arm or shoulder. It was a word that meant Elain, from her room across her hall, could usually hear them talking and laughing late into the night, among. . .other things. It was a word that meant happiness and freedom and love for her sister and the high lord, a bond that had become one of the most precious things in their lives.

But for Elain it was a word that felt like a cage. When Lucien would make the trek from the human lands to the Night Court it felt like she was being suffocated by his desperation. Feelings that she hadn’t reciprocated since she first saw him. It felt like a chore, waiting him out until he would give up for the day and leave, because she simply had no emotions for him. But it also felt like guilt, because Lucien had done nothing wrong but love her, and she couldn’t even make  _ herself  _  happy, let alone a Cauldron-knows-how-old Fae male.  **(A/N: no seriously. i  have no idea how old he is. it’s  like not on the internet anywhere)**

So when Elain’s “mate” stood in the doorway of the kitchen the next morning, she could only plaster a significantly shallow smile on her face and clench her hands into the towel she was holding. Catching Nuala and Cerridwen’s eyes, they seemed gloriously bored and apathetic, a picture of indifference for the male that they knew Elain had no interest in. It almost would’ve made her smile, how much they valued her over Lucien, but not when  _ he  _ was in the room. 

“Hi,” she said as politely as she could, turning back to the pie crust she and Cerridwen had been rolling out.  _ I don’t have to be anything but respectful and civil,  _ she reminded herself. 

“Hello, Elain,” he answered, trying a smile. “Can I come in?” His posture was wary and cautious, as if the wrong thing would get him kicked out. Which, it probably would’ve if Nesta was here. If Nesta had  _ cared  _ like she used to. And that thought sent another pang of disappointment through her, making it even harder to turn back to Lucien and tell him “sure.” Even when the last place she wanted him was her safe spaces, like the kitchen.

Elain was  _ not  _ ready to deal with him today.

He slowly crossed into the kitchen and perched quietly on a stool near the counter. His expression was almost. . .hopeful, as if talking to Elain, no matter how uninterested she was, made him comfortable with being here

“How are you doing?” he asked casually, swiveling over to her as she walked about the kitchen, grabbing more flour from the pantry. 

Elain sighed, suddenly not interested in the cooking whatsoever. She felt Nuala raise her eyebrows at the sound, as if to ask:  _ Do you want me to scare him away?  _ But Elain simply pursed her lips tolerantly and answered, “Fine.”

What a lie that one word was. Elain wasn’t “fine.” In fact, she was nowhere near it. She barely had a life in the blooming city of Velaris, where everyone, all the time, seemed to be so  _ happy _ . Where she’d look out into the streets and find children playing and mothers greeting their children. While she stayed confined to this house, barely doing anything else but read and garden and cook. This city, where Rhys and Feyre would gallivant about talking and laughing with their subjects, who were all too happy to see their rulers so wonderfully and joyfully mated.

Something that Elain, with her own “mate,” (a word that she still felt awkward even saying) had none of. A happiness she couldn’t find anywhere in the red-haired, naively hopeful and unnervingly concerned male made it feel like he was taking up all the space in the room. He was simply a reminder of what she  _ didn’t  _ have, and she couldn’t help the resentment that curdled in her chest whenever he came up to her. Because no matter how happy he  _ thinks  _ Elain could make him, she would never feel it. 

The only human connection she seemed to have these days was Azriel, the peaceful shadowsinger whose presence didn’t suffocate her like Lucien’s, but instead seemed to fill her with air. Make her breaths easier and slower, calm her with his own silence. She could still see his face, even a day later, when she’d pressed her hands onto his.  How he’d stared at her as if. . .as if she could take the pain away. As if just being there for him was enough. 

And she’d wanted so desperately to give that to him, when those shadows had passed over his face as she asked the question. Her heart had ached for him, and in that moment, she could only see him. No one else. She could barely see Nesta, or Feyre, or even the rest of the world when she had looked at him. And the gentle way he looked into her eyes, with the gratitude of someone who’d just been given a priceless gift, had tugged at her heart. Tugged at a scrap of real joy Elain needed so, so much.

And it had been enough. 

“The human lands are very beautiful this time of year.” Lucien’s optimistic, overly-cheery voice jarred her back into the reality, in this kitchen. No flowers, no quiet, and definitely no Azriel. 

Elain almost grimaced with his words, because she knew the underlying meaning. She knew how his casual words masked a true intention: he wanted her to come visit. But she, still silently wishing he would leave, said, “That’s nice.” She couldn’t help the impatient edge in her voice, no matter how perfectly pleasant her words were. And Elain knew he could sense it too.

She heard him sigh a little. “Elain. . .” he started solemnly, and she braced herself for whatever sincere and forlorn offer he had for her. “You should come see us - Jurian, Vassa, and I. We - we have a garden and I can get you whatever you need to stay there. We’d love to have you.”

_ Good lord,  _ she thought to herself, feeling more rigid and uncomfortable than she’d ever been around him. He’d never even come right out with asking, and he’d sounded so  _ anxious  _ while saying it, as if he would truly be devastated if she said no. 

But Elain couldn’t do it. She couldn’t lie this way. It wasn’t a feigned smile here and there, or a few one-word answers to his barrage of comments. It was going back to a world that she’d once planned to share with a human boy who now scorned her. It was going back  _ there _ , except this time, with a different boy who could never give her the happiness Graysen had.

_ At least he won’t give me the heartbreak, either,  _ she thought bitterly. But even the thought of staying with Lucien, across the now non-existent wall, was more than her splintering heart could handle. She stopped working and gripped the counter so hard her knuckles were white. “Lucien, I. . .” she started, her voice thin and tight.

But before she could continue, she heard footsteps creaking on the cold floor outside the kitchen, and Elain looked up to find Azriel leaning in the doorway, wings barely fitting in the narrow frame - or the hallway, for that matter.

“Azriel!” she started, unable to keep the relief out of her voice, feeling the anxiety begin to ebb away simply with him being there. 

He gave her a small smile too, then turned his head and slowly nodded at Lucien. His eyes darted around the room, ever the lethal spy he’d trained to be, to Lucien’s now sharp and spiteful gaze, none of the optimism he’d had for her left there. “Hello, Azriel,” Lucien said with feigned indifference, because Elain could clearly see him assessing the shadowsinger from where he stood.

Elain pursed her lips, almost  _ annoyed  _ at the blatant distaste for Azriel.  _ I have to get out of here,  _ she thought, unable to stand Lucien for a minute longer - with his fake relaxation, offers to visit him, and now the way he looked at Azriel.

She looked back at Azriel, still in the doorway, and closed the distance between them, toweling off her hands. “Do you want to go. . .show me that thing you were talking about?” she asked, rather anxiously. She felt almost as if Lucien was leeching the air from the room with his gaze. 

The shadowsinger barely blinked before replying, “Of course, Elain. That’s why I came to find you.” She could see the question in his dark eyes, but also the understanding. 

Elain gave him a relieved and gracious smile before turning back to Lucien. But the male had already gotten up from his seat and was making for the doorway, lips in a thin line. “Well, I’ll leave you two then. . .I should probably visit Feyre, too” he said, an unmistakably harsh edge to his voice. And then he was squeezing through the door next to Azriel. And Elain could see how restrained he was, back rigid and hunched over, as he practically stalked away from them. 

Elain could only wince at his retreating form, turning to Azriel with an uncomfortable frown on her face. “I’m sorry, Azriel. . .really, I-”

But Azriel simply shook his head and gave her an amused look. “I had no idea someone as sweet and patient as you could get tired of  _ Lucien,”  _ he said, a smile in his voice.

And Elain couldn’t help but mimic his expression, finding herself feeling so much lighter than she had been just a few moments ago. “I don’t suppose really  _ do  _ have anything for me, now that my schedule is free?” she asked, gazing up at him.  _ In other words, can I stay with you so I don’t have to deal with this stifling place?   _ She thought to herself.

“I guess I do have something I’ve been wanting to show you,” he answered, and Elain could’ve sworn there was an unusually eager glint in his eyes as he lead her out of the kitchen. 


	4. Azriel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Azriel decides to show Elain his shadowsinger powers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BEWARE THE ANGST.   
> I recently realized how many of my chapters involve the pain and emotional trauma both of these characters have suffered, and this is yet another one of those. Suprisingly, there won't be much fluff until chapter 6, which is weird considering how much I love to write it.

Azriel didn’t know what he was doing. He didn’t know why he’d gone down to see Elain this morning, and  _ definitely  _ didn’t know why he’d found himself tensing up when he’d found Lucien perched on a stool in the middle of the kitchen, Elain darting around him as if he carried the plague. 

All he knew was that ever since she’d looked at him like  _ that  _ in the greenhouse the day before, he couldn’t stop seeing her eyes. Her warm, unyielding brown eyes that didn’t look away from his shadows. That didn’t balk at his scars. That  _ saw  _ him and the pain inside, and were not distant and cold in the face of it, but kind and calm.  **(A/N: told you it was going to be cheesy)**

All he knew was that he wanted her to look at him like that again. 

So when she’d seemed so relieved to find him there in the doorway, as if his presence there made  _ her  _ feel better, he couldn’t help himself. And couldn’t help the ease in his chest when Lucien had left. . .because of him.  _ Don’t be jealous,  _ he’d told himself, because if the word applied to him, it would mean he’d have to face the fact that he cared enough about Elain to actually  _ be  _ jealous. And that would be a lot of emotions he didn’t feel like dealing with. 

“Where are we going?” Elain suddenly asked, peering up at him with a warm smile on her face. He could see how much more relaxed she felt as they walked through the courtyard, so at ease compared to the indoors. Even though it was frigidly cold and snow was settled in huge drifts around her covered flower beds for the winter, Elain looked like she could finally breathe.

Azriel wondered what it meant that he noticed it.

“A more. . . open space,” he supplied vaguely. Another thing he didn’t know why he was doing. She’d asked if he’d wanted to do something with him and all he’d been thinking about was how Elain had let him into her own sanctuary yesterday, revealed to him her own piece of freedom she had, and suddenly he wanted to show her. 

Azriel wanted to show Elain his shadows. The reason Rhys and Cassian had befriended him five hundred years ago, the reason so many cowered in fear and balked in his presence, and the reason he was perpetually cursed to drifting into the background, the back of everyone’s mind. 

But Elain had seen his scars and hadn’t cowered or stayed away. She hadn’t let him fade into the background. She’d taken his hands in hers and stared him down like he wasn’t a monster, a tool, or even just a power to be used. And that made him want her to see it, too. 

Soon enough, after walking the path from the townhouse that delved into the woods behind it, they came across an open clearing, full of purely white snow, not a track in sight. It was serene and unearthly in its own way, so completely untouched by the rest of the world. 

He turned to Elain, finding her looking up at him quizzically. “My power is extremely rare and. . .special as compared to most Fae. Similar to yours, actually, in the way that I can hear and feel things that most can’t. It’s hard to describe really, but my shadows are a part of me, like the pieces of myself that use this power. I can send them far or keep them close, but wherever they go, I can hear things that are happening, and sort of. . . _ feel  _ the underlying thoughts and emotions in the sounds.”

Elain’s facial expression was stony as he explained, and he had no idea what she was thinking. No idea if he’d taken it too far, if it was too much for her. She  _ had  _ known he was a spy, but what did she think of the magic of it? There were no words to listen to, no sounds to decipher, and his racing heart held all of the anxiety that had been threatening to spill out until now. 

“So you’re like. . .a bat?” Elain suddenly said, looking up at him with furrowed brows, a smile in her voice. She pressed her lips together as if to smother a snicker.

Azriel barked a laugh at her absolutely mundane and insignificant comparison to a part of him that usually sent most people running for the hills. “Yes, I guess so,” he answered breathlessly, shaking his head.

Elain didn’t bother to hide her smile after that. “The wings just make the comparison much more realistic,” she added, laughing with him. 

“I guess that’s probably the most unimpressive way to describe it” Azriel joked, shrugging. 

Then Elain’s laugh sputtered out like a candle and she gazed up at him, almost nervously. “A-are you going to show me?” she asked, quieter now, as if she was breaching a certain level of privacy. And, in some ways, Azriel thought his shadowsinger powers  _ were  _ a deeply intimate part of him.

But her question only made him smile, because she cared enough to ask. Cared enough to see his powers as a part of  _ him,  _ and not the other way around. The way so many past high lords and Illyrians had leered at him, simply a vessel for his deadly, priceless power. “That’s why we’re here,” he told her, and her comfortable smile was back.

Azriel would do anything to see her smile at him like that. 

“I’m going to stand in the middle of the clearing and close my eyes. And you can go,” he gestured around to the surrounding forest, “wherever you want inside the trees. And just. . .start talking. And I’ll be able to trace your voice to wherever you are, and use my shadows to find you.” It was a neat trick, and one he’d used to first develop his powers with Rhys and Cassian (both of which he consistently scared the shit out of when he came up behind them while they were mindlessly talking to themselves to figure out how far Azriel’s powers went. But Elain didn’t have to know that). 

She nodded, and Azriel could see that she was almost. . . _ eager  _ to see this part of him. And that only made him more nervous as she flashed him a grin before jogging into the trees surrounding them. 

Azriel took a deep breath and winnowed into the middle of the clearing, finding himself isolated in a blanket of perfect, flawless snow. He focused on the whistling wind, the rustling trees, and the pale, watery blue of the winter sky around him.  _ Inhale,  _ he thought, listening to the sounds around him, between the silence that enveloped them.  _ Exhale,  _ he thought, and closed his eyes against the world, bringing in the soft, almost undetectable sounds that most people couldn’t hear. But Azriel did.

And he unleashed his shadows on the field. 

Suddenly, everything was amplified, like radio stations tuning into his ears. He felt his power brush up on the snow around them, rolling through it and around in a circle, then finding the trees and weaving through them, swift and silent. 

He heard birds cry shrilly and desperately from their nests, shivering in the cold they didn’t have protection from. He heard owls hoot calmly and proudly from their nooks in trees, safe and warm in their shelter. And he heard the wind, whistling through the cracks in trees and shaking dead branches and pine needles, whisking up snow in its wake. 

But then, he found  _ her _ . 

Like a lullaby, her lilting voice surfaced in his mind, soft and sorrowful. “. . .She’s like a fire. She’s warm, but in a fierce way. The kind that can burn you. And you have to be  careful because you know she loves you and you mean something to her, but she has to have boundaries. Though you may think you completely belong to her, she’ll never belong to you. Not really. There’ll always be a little part that stands apart, and she takes pride in the part that will always be hers, no matter what. That she’ll never have to sacrifice.”

_ Nesta,  _ Azriel realized, as her sorrow weighed him down, the heartache so much more real and raw when his power was revealing it to him. 

He heard her pause, felt her doubt simmering in the tendrils of his power. He pulled at it, until he could pinpoint where she was in the forest beyond. But. . .he didn’t want to go get her just yet.

“I don’t even know why I’m telling you this,” he heard her continue, with a nervous laugh. “I don’t doubt that you can probably hear me. . .but I haven’t been able to say this to anyone. Ever since Hybern I’ve felt like that part of Nesta, the one that yields to no one - not even me - has gotten too big for her to let anyone else in. And it’s so pathetic, I can’t even be mad at her. Because I just want her back. That’s all I want,” she finished, and he heard her voice crack. The sound sent a splinter of agony into his skull, the shadows intensifying all of the pain she was in. It was so raw and apparent in her words that Azriel couldn’t help but grimace. Because it was a torturous grief, the kind that paralyzes you and leaves you leaden with tears in your eyes, unable to lift an arm against the pain. 

And it broke Azriel’s heart. 

He felt her tears, hot and wet, even though he couldn’t see or hear them. He was moving now, eyes still closed, weaving around the trees with his shadows as her misery seared his skull. 

And then she was there, crouched in front of him as his shadows swirled around her like silvery smoke. Her hands were shaking as she wiped at her tears, and he could tell she didn’t know he was here. She curled her arms around herself as if to block the pain, squeezing her fingernails into her arms. Sobs racked her shoulders as she fought to keep silent. 

But Azriel couldn’t stand it, the sight of this wonderful, kind and beautiful female so utterly hurt, so he took a step forward, letting her hear it. She whipped around at the sound, eyes wide like a spooked animal. Her face was red and splotchy, eyes puffy and leaking tears. 

She didn’t move, so Azriel did. 

He closed the distance between them with one step and brought her face to his chest. He didn’t have the words - he never did. Azriel was always the silent one, the one in the background who made just enough comments to stay relevant, answered just enough questions to stay in the conversation. 

But here he wanted Elain to see that he  _ cared.  _ He didn’t want to be the background for her - and so he put his arms around her small, smooth body and rubbed circles down her back, hands sifting through her hair. He felt her fingers dig into his back, like if she didn’t hold on he would suddenly slip away.  _ I’m not going anywhere,  _ he thought, because he wanted to be the hands that took away the pain, just like she had the day before. He felt her take a deep breath against his chest, so short and small compared to him that he felt like he was cradling just another one of her flowers. 

After a long moment, she pulled away from him, and her arms slackened at her sides. She didn’t look at him. “I’m. . .so sorry, Azriel,” she murmured between sniffles, though visibly calmer and less frantic than  before. “I’m so, so sorry. . . I have no idea what I was doing and-”

He placed his thumb and forefinger on her chin, bringing it up to look at him. A small part of him was panicking, so at odds with being this close to someone. So focused on, the center of someone’s attention. Especially when that person was Elain. 

She stared at him through her lashes, still unable to fully meet his gaze. He could feel her embarrassment so strongly this close to her, and he couldn’t stand it. He couldn’t stand her being anything but secure and safe at this moment. Her brown eyes looked like glass, shining with tears and an utterly delicate semblance of composure that seemed about to shatter. 

“It’s alright,” he said softly, as gently as possible so even his breath wouldn’t shatter the thin, impossibly fragile glass in her eyes. “It’s alright.”

She let out a breathless, tear-choked laugh, full of despair. “It’s not though. I love Nesta so much. I love her so much that I can’t help but cry in front of you, and she probably hasn’t even spared me a thought.” Her face turned up at his them, brows furrowed and face scrunched up. “I’m so sorry, Azriel. I was just going to talk about my sisters. . .I thought it would be okay.”

Azriel’s heart broke for Elain then, because even when she was barely able to hold herself together because she felt so completely  _ destroyed _ , she still had the heart to apologize to him. And, of all things, for letting him see her pain. Her grief. Because she didn’t know how much he  _ wanted  _ to see. 

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Azriel murmured, looking at her with all of the intensity he could muster. “Absolutely nothing.”

Elain just nodded, sinking back against him. He took her back in his arms, feeling her heart thud rapidly from her own skin. The pain wasn’t gone - one thing he’d learned from all these years is that only you yourself can erase the mental scars - but other people are the ones who can give you the bandages. And all Azriel wanted was for her to see him as one, to be able to open him up to her pain. Something he would never let her apologize for. 

So, as she leaned against him, he called upon his power to envelope them in his shadows, lending her the quiet and peace that came with them. Just for now, they could let the pain lull into the background while the shadows kept them safe. Safe from their minds, safe from their tears - just as Azriel had done for so long. 

He felt her heartbeat slow as the shadows settled in around them, as if she could feel the comfort in them too. The quiet darkness that had become Azriel’s shelter since he’d been burned on his hands, and in his mind as well. He didn’t know how long they stood there, engulfed in their shadows, heartbeats echoing on each others chests. But he didn’t care, because it was enough. Just for now, it was enough. 


	5. Elain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mor comes back from a visit to the Winter Court and has a talk with Elain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one chapter this week because I was pretty busy, but I did spend a lot of time on it.

The next morning, Elain was smiling. When she’d woken up that morning, she couldn’t stop remembering the feeling of Azriel’s hard, warm body against hers. Like a solid rock she could cling to as waves racked against her heart, so strong that she alone couldn’t stand against them. But he could. He’d felt like an anchor to love and life on this planet, this cold and unforgiving world that left her so alone. He felt like the string pulling her back down, from the pain of the loneliness. 

And that made her want to rush downstairs and see him again, just to remind herself that she had one connection in this world. That she might not have Nesta, and she might not have Feyre, but Azriel had held her the day before as she’d cried and not pulled away. He wrapped her with his body and his shadows, as strong and beautiful as the shadowsinger himself. 

So Elain hummed as she dressed, slipping into a soft cream gown, tying the sash at her waist. She brushed her hair down before skipping down the stairs.  _ Azriel,  _ the name was like an echo, a loop that was always in the back of her mind. She’d just stopped at the corner of the stairs before she saw it. 

Feyre, Rhysand, and Azriel were in a crowded blob in the living room, talking and laughing like the family they were, a sight that always sent a twinge of envy through Elain. But today. . .they were huddled around a huge armchair, and Elain could’ve recognized that rich, lilting voice anywhere. 

“ _ Yes,  _ I brought gifts, Rhys. Honestly, I thought the first question would be ‘how was the trip?’ or ‘how’s my spectacular cousin doing after her visit  _ across the continent.’  _ But no. Prythian’s most powerful high lord wants to know whether I brought  _ gifts,”  _ Mor lectured teasingly, rolling her eyes at Rhysand. She was sprawled over  the armchair, laughter and playfulness shining in her eyes as they chatted excitedly around her. But there was no mistaking the joy that flashed there, the contentment that came along with  _ belonging  _ to such a tight family, a bond that no one could ever break. 

Elain didn’t think she knew what that felt like. 

_ Morrigan.  _ Elain felt her heart squeeze as she looked to the shadowsinger, standing as close as possible to the armchair as he could without actually sitting in it. There was a quiet delight in his eyes as he stared at the blonde female before him. The lines of his face, the shadows that lay in the sharp creases, were smoother and softer now, even a small  _ smile  _ playing on his lips. As if Mor had brought him into the light just by being there. His posture was more relaxed, almost leaning into her body like she was physically pulling him in. 

It looked like love. 

Elain wasn’t stupid - no matter how much it hurt her to see him so utterly transfixed by the female. She knew how Azriel talked to her, laughing and playful, but with a reverence neither her cousin or Feyre had for Mor. A layer of fondness that slipped out with every compliment, every joke that made her laugh (the fact that he made them at all was a testament to how different he acted around Mor). She knew how he defended her, the anger and wrath that would rise up whenever she was insulted. The kind of fury that stemmed from love, so deep Azriel would do anything for her safety. And now. . . she knew how he looked at Mor. There were no shadows, no masks for him to hide behind. It could’ve been just him and Mor and he wouldn’t have noticed. Elain saw how he could barely look away from her, all of the lethal focus he’d been trained to utilize as a shadowsinger aimed at her. 

“Welcome home, Mor,” she heard Azriel tell her, a full grin now on his face as she rose to hug him. He embraced her in return, and she leaned into his touch. “Azriel was the only one I missed,” she joked, looking over his shoulder to shoot Rhys and Feyre a look. They only chuckled, and Azriel’s smile only  _ grew  _ at the comment, as he rubbed his beautiful, rough hands lovingly down her back. 

Of course he was. She couldn’t have assumed that just because he’d so gently comforted her doing the exact same thing meant he wouldn’t do the same to Mor. The same to the woman he’d loved far longer than Elain had been alive. Even longer, still, than he’d even  _ knew  _ her.  _ You’re such a fool _ , she told herself. She felt her cheeks burn as Mor sweetly handed Azriel a wrapped present. He quietly slipped back into his place at her side, but now was fingering the wrapped box fondly. A token of Mor that he’d no doubt cherish forever. 

And Elain. . .he hadn’t even glanced up at her. Maybe he didn’t even notice her - even if that seemed highly unlikely for Rhys’ spymaster.  _ Maybe he was too focused on Mor _ , she thought, and the idea made her heart beat faster and faster as she stood at the stairs, frozen. Unable to look away from Azriel. Mor.  _ Everything.  _

They were so light together, completely at ease. She could barely hear their banter as Mor handed out gifts, chatting endlessly about her trip. Their laughter felt jarring and sharp, like pinpricks in her skin. She felt their smiles cut into her, white and harsh and full. So different from Elain, whose smile had vanished off her face, replaced with a grim line she was barely aware of as she stood apart from the rest of the group. 

She’d woken up this morning smiling for  _ Azriel,  _ the male she thought made her feel less alone. The kind of male that would look up when she walked into a room, hug her and rub her back with a special touch he reserved just for her, like no one ever had. But today, he hadn’t even noticed her. 

So Elain backed up into the steps, still silent. It was too much. She couldn’t stand to see them together for one more second, or she’d break. Already her heart felt constricted. She backed up another step, and another, and before she knew it she was racing back up the stairs. She didn’t care about her thundering feet as she bolted, for the second time in one week, to her room and locked the door.

* * *

 

Days passed, and Elain felt herself sink back into the loneliness she’d come to get used to this past year as Fae. She knew it shouldn’t have bothered her, but it did. Because she’d gotten a taste of what felt like to  _ not  _ be lonely, to have someone look at her and listen to her, even hold her as she cried. And coming back to that state of isolation, after knowing what it could  _ feel  _ like, was torture. 

She’d work in her garden every morning, as always, secretly hoping Azriel would come in like he had that day. The day she couldn’t seem to forget, always in the back of her mind. But it had been a week, and he hadn’t appeared. Elain was back to tending her flowers in solitude. Her orchids flourished, a fact that she’d normally be proud of, but now only caused a twinge in her chest that Azriel wasn’t there to see them. She’d never found anyone who cared as much as she did. But she’d  _ thought _ that Azriel had, the way he’d so intently followed her movements and instructions like he’d  _ wanted  _ to please her. But apparently he didn’t, because she’d look out the greenhouse windows each morning and, more often than not, find him walking with Mor through the snow. Giving her his coat when she was shivering. Dodging snowballs Mor chucked at him, using his shadows to playfully sneak up behind her and hurl more back. 

Elain didn’t want it to hurt, but it did. 

When the two of them would be missing at dinner, Elain couldn’t help but ask Feyre where they were - even though she already knew the answer. When Mor would drag everyone to Rita’s to dance, Azriel was always first to say yes, even if all he did was lounge around at the bar. He never seemed to notice - didn’t even look her way - when Elain always declined. She didn’t even know why Mor insisted on asking every single time, because Elain expressed absolutely no interest in going. Especially now that it meant staring at Azriel as he gazed wistfully onto the dance floor where Mor was. 

_ I was just. . .a fling,  _ Elain thought to herself, feeling her heart squeeze. A rather pathetic one, too, since all she’d done was plant flowers with him and bore him with her breakdown over Nesta. As soon as Mor was back, Elain was invisible again, and all those moments she’d desperately held onto were gone. As if they’d meant nothing - and to Azriel, they probably had. 

But two weeks later, Elain was watering the plants in the windowsill of her room when she’d heard a knock at the door.  _ Who could that be?  _ She wondered, walking to the door. Feyre had never knocked when coming to visit Elain, the few times she actually  _ had _ . And she was a fool to hope that maybe it was Azriel, coming to apologize for ignoring her, or just to talk - anything really. 

But her heart sunk as she opened the door to find Mor standing in it hesitantly, a tentative smile on her lips. “Oh. . .Hello, Mor,” she said, furrowing her brows. The female was the last person Elain expected to find at her door, probably the last person she even  _ wanted  _ to be there. Whenever she saw her, all Elain could think about was Azriel, and she became so ashamed of her own jealousy that she’d tried to avoid Mor at all costs. After all, she had no right to envy the two, who’d been through blood and battle and war together - and deserved all the happiness they could find with each other. 

“Elain,” Mor said, biting her lip as if. . .as if she was  _ nervous.  _ “I wanted to come talk to you. . .Is it alright if I come in?” 

Elain’s heart almost skipped a beat.  _ What could she possibly have to say to me?  _ Elain thought anxiously, her mind suddenly racing through all the possibilities. They weren’t close, not like Mor and Feyre. . .although she  _ had _ been inviting her to Rita’s often recently. Was it possible that Mor was trying to. . . _ befriend  _ her? The theory only made her heart beat faster, at the hope that maybe, somehow, this woman wasn’t going to completely dismiss her like everyone else had. Like  _ Azriel  _ had. 

But it calmed her enough that she was able to smile at Mor and let her in. “What did you want to talk to me about?” Elain asked, perching on her bed as Mor strode in. She seemed to take up the entire room, tall and imposing like the warrior she was. Elain couldn’t help but see why Azriel loved her so much, the air of confidence and strength she had surrounding her. 

Mor turned back to Elain, and her smile seemed to shrink a little. “It’s about Azriel.”

Any hope that Elain had dissolved into anxiety at the shadowsinger’s name. “Oh. . .what about him?” she asked, trying to feign nonchalance - even as her heart was practically beating out of her chest. Did she think Elain was a threat? Did Mor  _ know  _ that Elain and Azriel were friends? Or, at least, Elain had  _ thought  _ they were friends. 

“Azriel talks about you a lot. I know you two are friends, but I didn’t realize how. . . _ close  _ you’d gotten while I was gone.”

“Azriel talks about me?” Elain asked, confusion in her voice. He hadn’t even come to  _ see  _ her since Mor was back - she’d doubted he’d even thought about her. Definitely not as much as she’d thought about him.    
Mor huffed out a laugh. “Elain, you two are so. . . _ perfect _ . You’re so sweet and kind and gentle - Azriel loves that about you. He needs someone like that. He’s so used to standing apart and letting other people forget about him. . .You’re the kind of person who wouldn’t do that.” 

“Why are you telling me this?” she breathed softly, unable to get out of her head how close Mor and Azriel always seemed to be. How much love shone in Azriel’s eyes when he was around her. 

Mor shook her head and turned away. “ _ Cauldron,  _ this is not going at all how I wanted it to,” she muttered, trying for a smile. She took a deep breath, as if to steel herself, and stared at Elain. “I know Azriel is in love with me and he has been for 500 years.”

Elain sucked in a breath, unable to answer. Mor was toeing a dangerous line with her heart, and didn’t even know it.    
“But I. . . _ can’t  _ love him back.” Mor gave a watery smile at Elain, trying to mask the pain in her eyes, but Elain saw. She saw how much Mor hated that she was hurting Azriel, how much she wanted him to be happy - but she couldn’t give him the one thing that would bring him that happiness. 

Elain softened, now understanding how Mor felt. She would always love Azriel. . .but never in the way he’d want her to. There was no room for jealousy in Elain’s heart anymore, only sadness for the shadowsinger who’d been pining for so long, pursuing a happiness that he would never find. 

Something in Elain’s heart broke at that. 

“I don’t expect you to understand and you probably think I’m a horrible person,” Mor went on quickly, practically babbling now. “Cauldron, I  _ know,  _ but he doesn’t deserve this. He deserves someone who’s going to be able to love him back. Someone who could make him  _ happy _ .” 

Elain was barely breathing now. 

Mor strode toward her, placing slender, beautiful hands on Elain’s shoulders. “You make him so, so happy, Elain. And I don’t think he even knows it. He’s been in love with me for so long that he can’t see it - he can’t see how much happier he would be if he just. . .let me go.” Mor’s voice was barely a whisper now, her face only inches away from Elain’s. 

But no matter what Azriel could possibly be feeling for this female, Elain could find no hate for Mor. She only found a person who cared so deeply, so fiercely, for her friend that it  _ killed  _ her that she couldn’t make him happy, broke her that he wanted the one thing she couldn’t give him. 

So Elain put her hands on Mor’s arms, and looked into her eyes, swirling with pain and hope. Hope that maybe, just maybe, Elain could be the one. The one who would finally give Azriel that satisfaction. So  _ Mor  _ could be happy. “I know,” Elain found herself saying, as if the words themselves could show Mor how much she cared. “I know.”

Mor was quiet for a long moment. 

But then, to her surprise, Mor let out a soft laugh. “You’re so perfect for him, Elain. You know that?” 

Elain couldn’t help the blush that bloomed on her cheeks, and with the blonde female staring at her with such joy, as if she was a gift herself, it was alright. Maybe Azriel wasn’t ready to love her. Maybe he would spend another five hundred years looking at Mor the way she looked at him - but it didn’t mean she wouldn’t be able to try. To try to get him to  _ see  _ her the way she saw him. Elain understood - she really did - that Azriel may not be ready to face her right now. 

But that didn’t mean he never would.


	6. Azriel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Azriel talks to Mor about Elain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, it's just one chapter this week again because I'm pretty busy getting ready for the Biannual Bibliothon on YouTube. I hope to have two chapters up next week though, but probably not. Still, I hope you enjoy this one!

Azriel felt stupid. He felt completely, unconditionally stupid as he handed the florist her payment, scarred hands shaking as he nervously accepted the bouquet she gave him in return. Deep, blood-red roses in full bloom - for Mor. Her favorite color, found in her sweeping, breathtaking evening gowns and always painted on her perpetually smiling lips. 

In the weeks that she’d been back from her visit to the Winter Court, they would eat lunch together in the cafes of Velaris, sipping hot drinks and walking down the Sidra, talking and laughing - Azriel had long ago decided that his favorite sound in the world was Mor’s laugh. They’d play like children in the snow outside the townhouse, chucking snowballs at each other like he did with Rhys and Cassian every year. He loved the joyful surprise on Mor’s face every time he snuck up behind her, lobbying snow at her crimson coat before she even saw him. It took his breath away everytime. 

But even then, he’d find himself staring back at the greenhouse at the edge of the field more than a few times. He could usually catch Elain kneeling inside, hands fisted in the dirt, overalls caked with it. The sight made his mouth quirk up sometimes, the delicate young female practically covered in the soil that most would avoid at all costs. 

But he never went inside. 

A part of him felt like an ass, because of all the time they’d spent together while Mor had been away. He still thought about it, about how wretched her sobs had sounded to his heart, how much he’d wanted to just piece her back together right then and there in the middle of that forest.  He still thought about the orchids they’d planted together, and wondered how they were doing. If his even survived. A part of him really hoped it did - just because it would impress Elain. And he could never forget her reaction to his scars - how gentle and accepting she’d been. How utterly compassionate. It was a kindness that was hard to find in the twisted, desolate world he’d lived in. 

But he’d only thought about it. Hadn’t even made one move to see her, speak to her. Because with Mor here. . .he’d never been able to keep away. Never, not once in the five hundred years he’d been in love with her. And a part of him hated himself for it - hated how sometimes he’d catch Elain staring at him and Mor walking the path around the grounds, or feel her watching almost longingly with his shadows. He knew, more than he ever had, how much this lovely girl deserved happiness. Her sobs, so full of despair and hopelessness that day in the forest told him enough about the kind pain she was in. 

And some piece of him had dislodged in his heart at that, and he had wanted to be the one who would give her that happiness. He’d wanted to be the one who would hold her through the tears, the one who would coax a full, genuine smile from her - the one who would be there for her through her worst and lift her up at her best. 

But then Mor would launch a snowball at his face, laughing triumphantly, and the thought was gone. He knew he was so far gone, so far lost in this female’s smiles and heart and soul that he couldn’t see anything beyond her. And that made him feel like such an absolute bastard that whenever he’d catch Elain in the halls, or out in town, he couldn’t bear to look her in the eye. Because of the pining fool he was, that as soon as Mor had come back, he’d gone back to her like the lovesick dog he was. 

Elain deserved better than that. 

And yet, here he was, clutching flowers in now (extremely) sweaty palms like a gods-damned teenager.  _ What the fuck am I doing,  _ he thought, shaking his head. 

He took off right then and there, in the middle of the street, flying all the way back to the townhouse. He’d leave the flowers in his room and then. . .then he’d give them to her after dinner.  _ It’s just flowers,  _ he reminded himself. Flowers for a female he loved, which didn’t have to mean anything. 

Even if it meant the world to him. 

He’d just left the flowers behind in his room, walking down the hall, when he spied Mor coming out of. . .was that  _ Elain’s  _ room? He had no idea the two were friends, or even talked to each other. She was walking with her head down, as if she was trying to cover it, not noticing him standing in the hallway. “Hey,” he offered, stepping to her side in the narrow corridor. 

Mor’s head snapped up in surprise at his words, something he was already used to as a shadowsinger. Very few were able to sense his presence unless he wanted them to. But as he looked at her, he saw that she was flushed, her eyes almost glassy looking. Azriel frowned. “Are you alright?” he asked, looking behind once more to room Mor had come out of

“Yes! Of course, Az” she answered with what felt like forced enthusiasm. “I was just going to come find you.”

Azriel couldn’t help the glimmer of delight he got from that, small as it was. “Why were you in Elain’s room?” he asked, then added hastily, “Not that I was spying, of course.”

“Azriel, you’re literally a spymaster,” she rolled her eyes jokingly as they rounded the stairs. “Your sense of boundaries is honestly the most unusual thing about you.”

Azriel huffed a laugh, even though he knew she was deflecting. “And my question” he pushed, trying for a light smile. 

She turned to him. “Why do  _ you  _ care?” she asked, a smirk playing on her lips.  _ “No,”  _ she gasped, feigning shock. “You couldn’t possibly be. . . _ spying on her,  _ could you?” Mor pressed a hand to her heart. 

Azriel shook his head to hide the smile playing on his lips, turning away. He’d interrogated more prisoners and creatures than he could count, but when it came to Mor, any rational thoughts he had flew out of his head. 

But before he could walk away, Mor grabbed his arm. He looked back and found her smile significantly subdued, more. . .thoughtful. “But seriously, Az,” she asked. “What about you and her?”

Azriel could’ve sworn his heart stopped for a beat. What reason could Mor possibly have for asking about  _ Elain,  _ of all people? It was as if she’d peered into his carefully guarded heart and found all of his swirling, hopelessly insecure thoughts on her. His guilt. And Mor  _ had  _ been in Elain’s room. . .was it possible that they’d been talking about  _ him? _

“She’s. . .nice,” he answered, restraint now in his voice. He furrowed his eyebrows suspiciously. “Why?”

Mor let go of his arm and gave a shrug. “Just. . .you two seem like you’d be good friends.”

“Well. . .I guess we have been spending time together,” he answered, even if it made him cringe. They  _ had  _ been, until Mor came back. 

Her head snapped up at that. “Really?” she asked. “I haven’t seen you with her at  _ all  _ since my trip.” She raised an eyebrow pointedly at him. 

_ Shit,  _ Azriel thought. They  _ had  _ been talking about him. And Elain, the sweetest person he’d ever met, was  _ obviously  _ going to tell Mor everything. “You know exactly where I’ve been. We spend practically all day together.”

Mor flinched back as if he struck him, and something solemn and distant flashed in her eyes for a split second. “But that’s my  _ point,  _ Azriel. You shouldn’t be. We’ve been spending time together for more than  _ 500 years.  _ What about all the people who haven’t gotten that time with you, but want to? What about all the people who have let you in while you continue to shut them out?” 

Azriel knew exactly who she was referring to. 

But he was shocked to find the  _ frustration  _ lining her face, as if it hurt her to be the one he would always run back to, the one he would always cancel plans for. He stiffened at the thought. “If you didn’t want to spend time with me, you could’ve just told me,” he shot back coldly. Azriel felt himself back away. Forget telling Mor anything. Forget her and Elain talking together, her probably telling Elain what a nuisance he was to be around. Forget the damn  _ flowers.  _ He was so stupid. 

But Mor’s eyes widened and she lunged for him, grabbing his arm again before he could retreat completely. “I didn’t mean it like  _ that,  _ Az,” she said softly. “I just. . .I want to see you  _ happy.  _ I want to see you laugh and smile everyday - not once in a blue moon. I want to see you open up to someone so you don’t have to be so alone. I want to see you comfortable with your friends and family - enough that you don’t have to fade into the shadows at every meal.  _ That’s  _ what I meant.”

Azriel went still. Because how long had he been pining after Mor? It hurt knowing that she would never look at him the way he looked at her. It hurt knowing every time she went out to Ritas she was just as likely to go home with another male, when he would be at the townhouse thinking about  _ her.  _ It hurt knowing that he was so, so alone in what he felt for her. That she would never share it with him.    
And then there was Elain. The one who hadn’t shied away from his scars, the demons that haunted him even to this day. The one who’d taught him how to plant a flower, had talked to him like she  _ wanted  _ to be around him. He was such a bastard. An absolute ass to stay away from her just because he couldn’t stand the idea of  _ not  _ thinking about Mor 24/7. Maybe loving this female for so long was hurting him more than he thought it was - and maybe Mor knew that. 

“And you think Elain could be that person?” he prompted. His voice was barely a whisper, his heart toeing such a dangerous line. 

“I think you should find out if she  _ could  _ be,” Mor answered, and smiled at him. 

And he didn’t entirely know why he did it, and her words scared him so much he had no idea  _ what  _ he was going to do, but he smiled back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure how I feel about this chapter. I mostly wanted it to show Azriel's inner turmoil because of how long he's been in love with Mor, but it felt almost rushed during revisions and edits. It probably isn't the best chapter in the story, but I did feel it was necessary for where I'm going with the book.


	7. Elain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elain and Azriel decide to talk to each other after weeks without contact.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is up on Tumblr now! If you are more interested in reading it there, you can find me @mehlisssa on Tumblr.

Dinners with the Night Court, Elain had learned, were nothing like on the human continent. There was no boundaries on what was deemed appropriate dinner conversation, as she’d seen sitting through Cassian’s dirty innuendos completely red-faced as everyone else roared. Even Azriel would usually chuckle. And there was way too much wine and drunk people to be considered polite.  **(A/N: seriously the inner circle is ALWAYS drinking wine. It’s really interesting)** Cassian and Mor were usually stumbling down the stairs of the house of wind before Azriel would sigh and hoist Mor up into the sky to fly her back so she wouldn’t hurt herself. Cassian would hold his arms out and pout, asking Az to fly  _ him  _ back too, and he would only remind Cassian that he shouldn’t have gotten so drunk in the first place. 

Rhys and Feyre were usually the first to leave, back to their riverside manor. On the few occasions Feyre was drunk herself after a night spent talking about things only she and Mor could talk about (passing a bottle of wine between them at the same time, obviously) Rhys would pretend to be annoyed, but secretly  enjoyed drunk Feyre’s incoherent ramblings and the way she seemed to cling to him wherever they were. Of course, Elain assumed these nights would be fewer and fewer, now that they were trying for a child. 

As for Elain, she tried her best to maintain the manners she’d spent her entire life learning. No elbows on the table. Always use a napkin. No more than half a glass of wine (something Feyre herself had clearly forgotten). And today was another inner circle dinner, as Feyre had decreed after lunch. “With Cassian gone, it’s not the same. . .” she’d moped, staring around the unusually empty townhouse. 

Elain didn’t comment on the lack of mention of Nesta. 

And so here she was, dressed in a soft, yet warm winter gown that pooled at her feet, embroidered yellow daisies stark against the baby blue of the fabric. She stood in front of the House of Wind, sighing with dread as she looked over the thousands of stairs leading up to the restaurant. As one of the few non-winged Fae of Feyre’s group, she would climb each one an hour before they were set to meet there, huffing and puffing when she reached the top as everyone else flew in. She hadn’t wanted to bother anyone with having to  _ carry  _ her, nevermind the fact that it was completely improper, and the fact that- 

“Hey,” a familiar voice called behind her, snapping Elain out of her thoughts. Of course, it was Azriel, the only one who could possibly sneak up on her without her even thinking someone was there. 

But still, her heart lurched more than usual at his presence. Because how long had it been since they’d talked? How long since that day in the woods? Since  _ Mor  _ came back? “Hi, Azriel,” she managed to answer softly, heart still beating an uneven rhythm in her chest. She tried to smile nonchalantly at him, but even she could feel it forced on her  face. 

He stepped toward her, shadows curling at his feet. “We haven’t been talking much lately,” he said. Elain supposed there was no dancing around the issue now. 

She couldn’t help it as she turned away, not trusting herself to be able to maintain a smile. It had been getting harder and harder these days, to be as bright and compassionate as she had once been. Now it was practically impossible to muster up that courage. “Yes, we have,” she replied, audibly cooler than before. 

She heard Azriel clear his throat, almost as if he was. . . _ nervous.  _ “Elain,” he said softly. She turned back to look and him, finding shadows swirling in his eyes. He was so close, she realized. So close to melting back the way he came, into the comfort of his darkness, but for some reason, he was. . .trying  _ not  _ to. 

“I. . .I missed you.”

The words were so hoarse and quiet that Elain could barely make them out, but they were unmistakably there, hanging in the air between them like a weight. Her heartbeat still hadn’t calmed, and she didn’t think it would anytime soon.

She wasn’t sure she was breathing as she answered him. “Me too,” she said braving a step toward him. Hoping, always hoping, that he would let her. “What happened? Why. . .why did you leave?” 

She could see his cringe at her words, guilt flashing in his eyes. So maybe it wasn’t just her. Maybe. . .maybe the shadowsinger had been thinking about her too. “I’m so sorry, Elain. I. . .I don’t have an excuse. I really do like your company.”

Elain felt her smile naturally return at his warm words, genuinely filled with regret. So she wasn’t the only one who’d thought that they’d had an actual friendship. “I do too,” she answered. She didn’t need to ask him why he’d stayed away. She knew - Mor had hinted as much. But. . .Mor had also told her just how hard this was for Azriel. And she was willing to accept that. To accept that simply because he had made a mistake with her didn’t mean he didn’t care. “I’d love it if you came back to the greenhouse. You could see the orchids” she added hopefully. She didn’t want to push him, but he  _ had  _ implied that he’d liked spending time with her. She simply wanted that back.

Luckily, she could see the shadows retreating around him, his face lighter now. No smile there, of course, but she knew enough about the shadowsinger to see he took pleasure in his own, quieter, expression of happiness. “I’d like that very much, Elain,” he answered, and then took a step toward her. 

“Yours hasn’t died yet, thankfully. I was so afraid after the way you  _ manhandled  _ it,” she teased, earning an indignant huff from Azriel. 

“It wasn’t  _ that  _ bad” he protested, red blooming on the cheeks. Actual  _ embarrassment  _ lay there. 

“Aw, Azriel, the poor flower is just fine. I’m sure it’ll forgive you. In time.”

“Shall I get on my knees and beg?”   
“I wouldn’t know - I have never so gravely harmed any plant or animal.” 

The light in Azriel’s eyes dimmed at that. Elain had meant it as a joke, but. . .she hadn’t realized just how much carnage and bloodshed Azriel had seen in all of his years of life. She immediately cringed and shook her head. “Azriel, I’m sorry, I-I didn’t mean-” she started, but Azriel cut her off with a wave of his hand.

“It’s really alright, Elain.” She could sense he didn’t want her to press the subject, and Elain would respect that. The shadowsinger then looked past her, at the sprawling expanse of stairs, and cocked his head. “Were you really going to climb up  _ all  _ of them?” he asked almost incredulously. 

A skilled change of subject, but Elain was glad for it. She looked down almost sheepishly. “Well. . .I have been ever since I came here. Its. . . it’s not that bad,” she added, even though it was. Her legs were sore the morning after every dinner and she could tell no one about it, lest having to embarrass herself. 

Azriel looked utterly shocked. “ _ Cauldron,  _ Elain! Cassian, Rhys, and I have been training brutally for centuries but none of them would  _ ever  _ climb up all these steps once. Let alone  _ multiple  _ times.”

Elain didn’t hide her smirk. “Feyre does call you three Illyrian babies for a reason,” she quipped, deciding not to mention how much pain  _ she  _ was in every time she climbed the stairs. 

“That she does,” he replied, laughter dancing in his eyes. “But still. . .you really shouldn’t have to do that. I could. . .fly you,” he offered slowly, like he was afraid of what her answer would be. 

For the third time in their entire encounter, her heart was leaping out of its chest. “Oh. . .I’m really not sure.” She looked up into the cold, crisp night, the sheer  _ height  _ of the building itself. 

“It’s not frightening, I promise. You asked me yourself, remember? It’s always been a joy to fly, never a burden. And I would never drop you, Elain.”

“You remembered?” she asked. It had been the first thing she’d ever said to the shadowsinger, and even then, she could see just what a kind and calm person he was, with how indulgently he answered her. 

“Of course I did.”

And maybe it was the way Azriel looked at her then, like he remembered everything about her and had never once dismissed her, or maybe it was simply the thought of climbing those god-awful stairs even one more time, but she found herself taking his outstretched hand and letting him envelope her in his wings before shooting like a star into the snow-kissed night.

* * *

 

“Viviane has been hounding after Kallias to be named High Lady of the Winter Court,” Mor announced at dinner, after taking a huge gulp of wine that had Elain cringing. 

They were all sitting at the largest table at the House of Wind, minus Cassian, and Mor was regaling the rest of the table with tales from her Winter Court visit. She could barely stop talking about Viviane, and Elain couldn’t help but notice just how proud and in love she was with her best friend. 

Just an hour before, Azriel had taken Elain into his arms just like that day in the woods, only this time it was her pounding heart against his warmth and the snow and wind whistling through her hair and ruffling her gown as Azriel held her tightly against him. He’d breathed softly into her ear in a way that had her toes curling asking, “Do you want to look now?” Up till then, she’d had her eyes squeezed shut and buried in his chest, to scared to care about the impropriety of such a gesture.    
But then, slowly, she’d lifted her head up and gazed out at the wide expanse of stars, so eternal and unyielding and beautiful that it felt more like one of Feyre’s paintings than anything else. Her breath had caught in her throat at the sight, and Elain could understand just a little more why her sister had fell so utterly in love with this place. And its High Lord. 

And when they’d finally reached the edge of the balcony, Azriel had set her down gently, and she’d carefully slipped her hands from around his neck, murmuring a thank you before joining everyone else at the table. But their arrival had certainly not gone unnoticed. She’d seen Feyre’s raised eyebrow at her, a smirk playing on her lips, and Rhys had taken a pointed sip of his wine while staring back at Azriel. 

Really, it was like they’d gotten  _ married _ , the way they reacted. 

But Mor. . .she saw a quiet joy in those brown eyes, genuinely happy to see them together. It was the one look that had really made Elain’s cheeks turn crimson, not at the suggestiveness, just at how meaningfully Mor had looked at them. Like she was proud. Elain had glanced up at Azriel for just a second and found his cheeks pink too, averting Mor’s gaze. It made her wonder whether the blonde female had had a similar conversation with Azriel. 

But now, well into the meal, everyone was talking and laughing as usual, Mor telling everyone about Viviane’s quest to become Prythian’s  _ second  _ High Lady. 

“Well,” Feyre answered, giving a dramatic hair flip. “I wonder where she got  _ that  _ idea.”

Rhys only chuckled and kissed her hair, as if his pride in Feyre was so great he couldn’t resist, even in front of everyone. It warmed Elain’s heart, but she couldn’t help the stab of jealousy at their deep, unbreakable bond that had stood through an entire war. The kind of love that had prevailed, where as Elain had been left heartbroken and utterly  _ altered  _ after Graysen had rejected her. Because she was Fae. 

It still hurt, of course, but she had come a long way from crying herself to sleep every night. Elain found herself turning to Azriel, across the table from where she sat wedged between Mor and Feyre, laughing so quietly. But. . .he looked back at her, staring into her eyes. A silent question in his eyes. 

Elain simply shook her head, even as her lips curved into a smile on her face. It was a small gesture, to see him return her glance, but it was one that wouldn’t go unnoticed by Elain, who had felt so ignored by him all these weeks. But he hadn’t let her disappear, hadn’t let their friendship dissipate. He’d said as much before dinner. . .and that made Elain happy. 

It was a happiness that budded in her heart when Azriel had approached her, but was now in full bloom as she sat amongst his family and ate with them. A happiness that didn’t fade, even as everyone else grew too weary and full to continue on and were getting ready to leave. 

It was the kind of happiness she missed. 

“I’m going to Rita’s!” Mor had announced, surveying the group to see who’d join her. Feyre, a huge smile on her face, nodded and took Rhys’ hand. “Let’s go, Rhys!” she protested at his unsure look. “Paperwork can wait till tomorrow morning.” He’d grumbled something about how she was likely going to be hungover, leaving all the work for him, but still followed her and Mor out the door. 

“Az, Elain,” Mor called from the doorway as Rhys prepared to fly off with Feyre. “Are you coming?”

Elain shook her head, as usual. Rita’s simply wasn’t the place for her after living in the prim, proper human continent for so long. Women like her were rarely seen in pubs, and she wondered how long it took Feyre to get used to it. 

To her surprise, Azriel declined as well, stuffing his hands in his pockets and muttering something about sleep. 

“Suit yourself,” Mor said with a shrug, pulling a fleece-lined cloak over her shoulders and joining Feyre and Rhys at the balcony. Although, Elain could’ve sworn she saw Mor wink at them before she left. . .

Now it was just the two of them, standing awkwardly in the cold and empty House of Wind. Azriel cleared his throat and asked, “Are you going home now?”

She turned to him. “Yes, that’s what I’d been thinking.”

“I could fly you home - so you don’t have to go down all of the stairs. I mean, I know it’s a lot longer of a flight than this one, but-”

“I’d love to,” Elain cut him off, smiling warmly at him. She took his hand in hers and felt him relax into her touch, a scarred hand curving around hers. She saw a flash of a smile from the beautiful shadowsinger just before he pulled her to him and shot off into the sky.

Elain was smiling as Azriel let her down outside her room. He’d actually flown into the townhouse through the balcony itself, his touch lingering as they strode across the hallway to her door. 

She turned to him and found him staring strangely at her. “What?” she asked.

“No. . .it’s just Rhys told me he’d done the same thing with Feyre the first night we all met her. Only she wasn’t so pleasant about it. . .” A half smile on his face.

Elain felt her cheeks warm, at what that implied. She tried not to read too much into it - simply because it was something they had done together didn’t mean it was so special for the shadowsinger. . .but it didn’t mean it meant nothing, either. 

“Oh,” she replied. “I would probably feel that way too, had it been Rhys who had offered.”

Azriel snorted. “I could imagine.”

Elain looked down at her shoes, unable to meet him in the eyes. “Well. . .I’m going to go to sleep now. Thank you for flying me here, Azriel.” 

That seemed to check Az and he blinked, stepping away from the door. “Of course. Goodnight, Elain.”

“Goodni-” Elain started, but her voice choked off into a pained gasp as a hot flash of agony ripped into her abdomen. She clutched her stomach with a strained whimper - the only sound she could manage -and was shocked to find her hands coming up with hot, crimson liquid.  _ Blood,  _ she managed to think through the pounding in her head, just before she crumpled to the ground. 


	8. Azriel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm not spoiling the cliffhanger, so no summary this time ;)

Azriel shouted her name almost like a reflex, true panic in his voice when he saw her knees buckle as she fell to the ground. For the first time in so long he felt sheer terror at the sound of her strangled whimper, as if she was trying to scream but couldn’t even get the words out.    
Instantly he was on his knees, shaking hands on her shoulders as she moaned and collapsed against him. “What’s wrong, Elain? What is it?” he asked frantically, searching for a wound, a cut, SOMETHING that he could fix. “Please, Elain, tell me-“    
And then he saw the blood seeping into her gown, spreading and pooling like a crimson stain. There were hot tears in her eyes now, and she could barely manage to choke out the words. “B-blood” she gasped, voice breaking at the end as what he assumed was another cramp seized her. 

_ Oh,  _ he realized with a start. It was her cycle.    
Now, he felt completely useless. He knew battle wounds. He knew knives and swords and broken bones. But with this, he felt utterly powerless. He was only able to scoop her limp body into his arms. “It’s okay, Elain. It’ll be okay,” he repeated, over and over, more for himself than her. For so many centuries he had been trained to maintain grace under pressure. To not give in to the panic. But here, seeing the utter agony in her tear-filled eyes as her nails dug into his shoulders, clinging to him as if he were an anchor, he could not think of anything else. He could only see her, writhing in pain, and him, unable to do anything about it.    
He kicked open her door, strode to her bed, and lay her down as gently as he could amongst the white comforters. He was acting on instinct now.    
Lying there, Elain’s pain had faded enough for her to say, “the sheets. . .” looking down at her completely red abdomen. She made to get up, but Azriel gently cupped her head in his palm to lay her back down. “No, no Elain.  . .it’s alright. Just rest. Please,” he added and hated himself for his cracked, hoarse voice, wanting more than anything to be able to help her. To take away her pain. 

He didn’t want to move away from her, so he just kept his hands there as Elain continued her labored breaths. “Do you. . .” he asked awkwardly, a feeling he’d so rarely experienced in his life. “Do you need me to help you change?” Elain’s cheeks instantly turned even redder as she shook her head almost frantically. He decided that he loved seeing her blush, a thought that startled him in the severity of the situation. 

“No!” she practically shouted, then but her lip. “I’m sorry, Azriel. It’s fine, it’s just. . .” She looked down at her dress with a mixture of embarrassment and slight shock. 

It occurred then to him that Elain probably hadn’t  _ experienced  _ Fae fertility cycles yet, having been Made just about a year ago. It struck him how young she was then - to have her body, her human life, ripped from her at only twenty-one. How vast and unfamiliar everything would’ve seemed to her when she’d been plunged into a world she knew nothing about. And yet she still smiled at him, she still laughed. She still gardened and cooked and tried to maintain  _ some _ semblance of a normal life. 

“Have you had your cycle before. . . as Fae?” he asked as gently as he could. 

She shook her head almost sheepishly, leaning her head back into the pillows and closing her eyes. “Feyre had told me it would happen, but I didn’t expect this,” she said carefully. Meaning him being here as she suffered.

He found himself crouching down beside her bed, leaning in so close their breaths mingled. A part of him recoiled at the warmth emanating from her, so unlike the safety of his shadows. But she was Elain, and he couldn’t help but get lost in her warm brown eyes, so unconditionally kind. 

He didn’t smile. He didn’t frown. He let his face remain completely passive, utterly submissive to her will, as he took her hand in his, hoping they weren’t shaking too much, hoping they wouldn’t betray how nervous he actually was to be so close to her. He prayed that she wouldn’t recoil from his scar tissue, hands bumpy and uneven where most would be smooth.

But Elain simply let him trace a thumb down the back of her hand, staring into his eyes like they were the only thing in the room. He could see from her short breaths she was still in pain, only less sharp now, but she didn’t look away. He wanted to believe that maybe he was helping,that maybe he could be there for her. That he was needed and wanted just in this one moment, just for this one beautiful female who he could barely stand to see in pain. 

But then the spell broke as Elain once again looked down her absolutely ruined dress. She cringed, and Azriel’s grip on her hand tightened. 

“Do you think you could help - just help me get to the bathroom” she started, seeming so embarrassed and uncomfortable that Azriel cut her off with an understanding nod. 

“Of course,” he said and rose back up again. For the third time that night, he leaned over and slipped his hands behind her thighs and back, hoisting her up as she clung to him. She could barely look him in the eyes as she tried to right herself, gripping Azriel for balance. He could only see her burning cheeks, and her beautiful eyes were trained pointedly on the ground. 

“Hey,” he said softly, putting his fingers on her chin so she would look up at him. He wanted her to have no misunderstandings about him being here. That there was no place he’d rather be in this moment. “It’s alright, Elain. I’m. . .  _ glad _ I’m here to take care of you.”

At that he saw a hint of her usual smile back, and she eased into his arms, much less rigid and apprehensive. “Thank you,” she replied, with as much grace as she could muster. 

He walked her into the bathroom after she grabbed fresh underclothes and a nightgown out of her armoire - he made a point to look away, simply to make it easier for her - and set her down on a stool before walking out and closing the door.

“Let me know if you need me, Elain,” he called through the door, though he doubted she would. He just wanted her to know that he wasn’t going anywhere. 

“Thanks” came her mumbled reply, and he awkwardly leaned against the wall near her door, trying not to listen in. His shadows sometimes worked on their own accord, but here, he wanted to give Elain all the privacy she needed. 

Soon enough, he heard her start a bath, then tried his best to not think about Elain or what she was doing inside for the next half hour (but he found himself failing time and time again) until she emerged in a clean cotton nightgown. 

He turned back to her and she wordlessly let him lead her back to bed, looking visibly more relaxed and comfortable as she nestled into the pillows, pulling a comforter over her. 

“Can I get you anything?” he asked, scratching his neck. “Tea, or I-I don’t really know what would help. . .” Cauldron he was  _ stuttering.  _

But Elain almost looked amused as she answered, “Tea would be lovely. Thank you, Azriel.” 

He nodded, almost  _ glad  _ to have something to do that would actually help her, and winnowed outside the kitchen. He found Nuala and Cerridwen laughing near the counter, a bottle of wine between them.  He’d clearly intruded on their down time, something he knew they deserved after working so hard each day. Azriel almost debated sneaking a few tea bags with his shadows and steeping them in Elain’s room instead, but the wraiths, both trained by the spymaster himself, noticed his presence as soon as he took a step inside. 

“Azriel,” Nuala said, scrambling upright as Cerridwen hastily tucked the bottle behind her back. “What can we do for you?”

He waved them off. “Really, I don’t mean to intrude - don’t stop on my account.”

They nodded slowly, but still faced him. “But you need something?”

He cleared his throat - this was one errand that he had rarely been sent on in his life. “Elain requested some tea. . . I don’t suppose you have any for pain, or-or cramps?” 

He felt almost guilty that he hadn’t paid more attention to Feyre and Mor when they’d been on their cycles. Azriel found himself completely at a loss of knowledge here, and it pained him that he couldn’t help Elain as much as Feyre or Mor could. 

The twin wraiths merely exchanged a knowing glance, one he assumed all females shared from time to time. Nuala nodded at him and vanished into the pantry, supposedly for the tea. 

Cerridwen turned to him, and he could’ve sworn a smirk was playing on her lips. “The high lord and everyone else, apparently, are out wasting themselves at Rita’s. What are you doing here?”

He resisted the urge to scoff, remembering their first conversation, the day Nesta had left and Elain had stormed up the stairs. It seemed everyone was under the impression that he and Elain had  _ something  _ together, but. . .he wasn’t exactly sure he minded the idea. No, he definitely didn’t. 

“I’ve been with Elain,” he answered plainly, simply not wanting to give her the satisfaction. 

Cerridwen shook her head. “I’m glad you at least won’t deny  _ that _ , Azriel.”

He snorted. “There’s nothing to deny.” But deep down, he didn’t believe his own words. 

Luckily, Nuala emerged from the pantry then, tea in hand, sparing him from further interrogation from Cerridwen. She placed the steaming cup of water in his hand, steeping the tea bag in. “You were lucky I had already boiled water for Madja a few minutes ago. It’s ginger tea - I made it for the High Lady during her cycle a few months ago as well.”

Azriel graciously accepted the cup and saucer, nodding his thanks. He remembered how frantic and disheveled Rhys has been that week, rarely seen except to bring fresh towels and mugs of tea for Feyre. He now understood, if only slightly, how hard it must’ve been to see his mate in such pain. 

He winnowed back to Elain’s room, tea in hand, to find her waiting for him. Azriel placed the cup on her nightstand before helping her sit up, propping up the pillows behind her. 

“Thank you,” she said again as he handed her the steeping tea, then went into the bathroom and grabbed the stool, setting it down right in front of her bed. 

Elain’s eyes furrowed. “You’re going to stay?” she asked, clearly not expecting it. 

Azriel went rigid and turned away. He simply  _ assumed. . . _ “I can leave, if you’d like” he started, but Elain shook her head. 

“I-I’m glad you were here, Azriel. Thank you for staying.”

He felt himself relax at her words, so genuinely grateful for him, simply for being there. There was no way he was leaving now. He nodded as she sipped her tea, and they simply sat there in silence, until Elain suddenly winced, face contorting in pain. 

He immediately leaned forward, touching his hand to her arm instinctively. “Is the pain still bad?” he asked, and he knew she didn’t want to admit it, but he could feel just how agonizing it was for her. 

“Hold on,” he said, squeezing her arm. “I’ll be right back.”

She nodded, and Azriel slipped out of her room and into his across the hall. He rummaged around in his desk drawer until he found what he was looking for. 

It was the vial of powder Elain had given him at Solstice. For the headaches his brothers and friends always induced. He cracked a smile now, looking at it, remembering Elain’s hopeful smile at her incredibly thoughtful gift. It had sent him into a rare fit of laughter, at his ridiculous family, at how much it showed on his face. But now. . . he assumed that this powder could probably relieve not just his headaches, but Elain’s pain as well. 

When he returned to her room, he brandished the tonic and she started giggling at the sight of it. “Azriel, that was supposed to be for  _ your  _ headaches,” she protested as he poured some into her remaining tea. 

He grinned back at Elain, happy to see a smile on her face. “My biggest headache is in the Illyrian mountains as of now, and I thought this shouldn’t go to waste.”

She simply shook her head and accepted the tea. “I hope there’s enough left when he comes back.”

“There better be,” he teased. 

Soon enough, Elain had finished her tea and their conversation trickled into silence. She lay back down on the bed, closing her eyes. 

“Did the tonic help?” he asked quietly. 

She cracked an eye open. “Yes. Thank you so much. . .you really don’t have to stay now if you don’t want to. I’m feeling a lot better.”

He shook his head. “I’m going to stay until. . .until someone like Feyre or Mor can come stay with you.”

Elain grinned into the pillows. “I’m assuming that’s going to be about five in the morning.” 

“I’d agree with you.” 

And then she was drifting off to sleep, and Azriel couldn’t resist laying a hand on her damp hair, stroking once down to her shoulders. He braced himself for her recoil, any sign that his touch wasn’t welcome. . .but it never came. So he threaded his fingers gently through her hair, again and again. Azriel’s heart swelled  as she leaned into his touch instead of backing away. It was a small thing, he knew, for physical contact with Elain to be welcomed, but for him, it was an intimacy that he was also too careful about. For him it was a submission of trust and sincerity - one he didn’t give out often. And if it wasn’t reciprocated. . . 

_ But she didn’t push you away _ , he reminded himself over and over, until his hand stopped shaking and he felt more relaxed sitting next to her than he’d ever been alone, sitting in his room by himself. 

After awhile, her breaths evened out, her arms went slack under the covers, and he knew she was asleep. He was just about to get a pillow from his room and simply sleep on the floor next to her bed when he heard voices outside. It was Mor’s high-pitched laughter, following by a squeal from Feyre. 

He heard them ascend the stairs and he slipped out of Elain’s room, closing it softly behind him, just as Feyre and Mor rounded the corner. 

“Feyre!” he called in a loud whisper, and she turned to him. 

“Azriel!” Feyre said, remarkably not as drunk as he would’ve expected after spending so long at Rita’s. It was now three in the morning, and he’d expected her to be either incoherent when she’d came back, or completely passed out. “What are you doing up so late?”

He gestured behind him to Elain’s room. “It’s Elain, she. . .she’s on her cycle. She just got it tonight, when I flew her to her room.”

Feyre blinked. “And you’ve been with her. . .all this time?”

He nodded. 

Feyre stalked toward him now, concern now lining her face. “Do - does she need someone? Is she okay?” she asked, moving to open the door. 

Azriel almost smiled at her sincerity, glad to see that Elain had someone like her. “No, she’s sleeping now. I promised to stay with her until you were back. But. . .you could check up on her if you’d like.”

Feyre paused then with her hand on the doorknob. She turned back to him, giving him a meaningful glance. “Thank you for taking good care of my sister,” she said, and Azriel found his cheeks warming. The day was rare when his High Lady could provoke such a reaction from him, but he’d been with her sister simply because he  _ wanted  _ to, and it was a realization that made him wonder just how deep his feelings went for her. It was something he hadn’t wanted to face, something he sequestered deep in his soul until it was no longer ignorable, but tonight. . . something had shifted in him. He thought that maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t  _ have  _ to hide his true feelings under a carefully guarded wall of shadow. Not when it came to Elain. And with her, he found himself not  _ wanting  _ to, and he thought that it would not be so improbable, so difficult to lay himself bare. Just for her. He found no fear in his heart at the idea, for once, and it only heightened everything he felt for her, that she was an eye in his storm, the one exception for every insecurity that plagued him. And he knew, right then and there, as Feyre shot him a gracious smile before entering Elain’s room, that there was no going back anymore. Not from this.  

 


	9. Elain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elain and Feyre have a conversation leading Elain to confront her own feelings about being Fae and living in Prythian.

Elain had never thought excruciating pain, blood, and cramps would bring her closer to the people around her, but as it happened, that was exactly the sort of luck she had. Not that she was complaining. Because for once she felt like a real part of her sister’s world, laying in bed as Feyre held her hand through the cramps, telling her embarrassing stories about her and Rhys to distract her (the fact that they had so many was a testament to their ridiculous, yet perfect relationship). Feyre would sit with her for hours, and it made Elain feel like her sister really did love her, in her own way. In the way that she had her own life, her own friends and family that didn’t always include Elain - but whenever Elain needed her, she would be there. In a way that she’d never hesitate to drop everything for her, even if she only waited until the moment Elain asked to do so. 

It wasn’t perfect, but for Elain, it was enough. 

Even Mor dropped in the second day, two ginger teas in hand. One to nurse her own hangover from the night, and one to soothe Elain’s constantly roiling abdomen. “Last night was absolutely horrible and wonderful all at the same time,” she’d said in greeting, flouncing down on the rocking chair near Elain’s bed, practically sitting in Feyre’s lap.  _ “But,  _ when I came back home, I wasn’t  _ so  _ drunk that I didn’t notice Azriel leaving your room. . .” she prompted, arching a suggestive eyebrow at Elain. 

Elain couldn’t stop her blush then, at the reminder of the night that had been replaying itself over and over in her mind since he’d left - not even Feyre’s stories of Drunk Rhysand were enough to divert her attention (albeit the fact that they were so absurd, Elain would never see the high lord the same way again).

But Mor’s query had snagged Feyre’s curiosity, and Elain found a smirk already growing on her sister’s lips. “Yes, Elain, he told me he’d simply been taking care of you, but I wonder. . .in what way?”

Elain choked on her tea. “You realize I’ve been barely able to move the past twelve hours? He had to help me to the bathroom like I was. . .a-a  _ child,”  _ she protested, though her cheeks were still burning. 

Feyre brought a hand to her chest, feigning contempt. “How  _ scandalous.  _ I can’t believe you let him  _ touch you!”  _ she whispered, turning away as if in disbelief. 

Mor started laughing, but Elain couldn’t help feeling slightly miffed. “I’m not. . .I-I’m not  _ that  _ bad,” she protested, now pouting. At Mor’s look, she continued. “It’s true! We  _ have  _ hugged!” she added, but realizing as she said it that it was probably nowhere near the kind of experiences  _ they’d  _ had regarding physical contact with their preferred gender. 

But Elain couldn’t help it. She’d been raised with tight corsets and blooming gowns that hid any figure she’d developed the first eighteen years of her human life, where even with her betrothed, they’d still only exchanged light kisses on the cheeks and (very rarely) the lips, Graysen never going so far as to even touch her below the waist. They’d been waiting until marriage to be. . . _ intimate  _ in any sort of way, and it wasn’t like Elain had such a burning desire to see him naked anyway. She’d liked him well enough to consider it, but never thought to hard about it, simply because the consummation had seemed so far away.

Obviously, it wouldn’t be happening anymore. 

But then there was Prythian, with Fae males and mates and ritualized orgies and Elain had simply wanted  _ one damn thing  _ from her human life that it couldn’t take away from her:

Modesty.

She’d requested of Nuala gowns similar to the ones she’d had in the village and wore them everyday. She kept proper manners with everyone, no matter who they were, and never went to the clubs Feyre and Mor loved so much. She had her gardening, her cooking, and her books, and she would live as close as she possibly could to her human self, short of carving her ears back into rounded edges. 

And suddenly it made her angry. Angry that she was stuck here, in a world she still barely knew anything about, because of a monster who’d exploited her sister, and she would have to be mocked because she couldn’t fit in. Because she didn’t conform to a life she  _ hadn’t asked anyone to give her in the first place.  _

She was trying to make the best of it. She tried to smile, she tried to enjoy her sister’s family and their life, and she tried, so,  _ so hard,  _ for the one male who was gentle enough to notice how different she was, and would  _ let  _ her be that way. Who would look away when she grabbed undergarments from her drawer, who would close the door if she had to change, who wouldn’t ask questions as to why it was so  _ important  _ to her. He would simply accept that it was and respect her wishes.

_ Azriel.  _

But it wasn’t the beautiful shadowsinger in front of her, and instead was Feyre and Mor, laughing at her for  _ her  _ life choices, the ones that made her comfortable enough and able to keep her sanity in this world she found utterly senseless. 

“I’m so sorry if that’s so laughable for you. That I prefer taking things slower than any Fae should,” she spat out harshly, heart thundering in her chest. Her words were full of the resentment and frustration that had been slowly building up, ever since she’d been in Prythian. 

Feyre and Mor weren’t laughing now. 

“Elain, Cauldron. . .I’m sorry. We didn’t mean it like that,” Feyre  said, bringing her hand to Elain’s cheek. “No one asked you to be like us. Honest, we didn’t.”

“I didn’t ask to be Made, either,” the words simply spilled out of her mouth, every bit of bottled up bitterness slipping out with them. She didn’t know how it happened, how her sister would ignite the flame inside her and send all of the emotions flaring up and burning the people around her, but it was there. There was no taking it back. 

Feyre blinked like she had been struck. Mor’s head was down, suddenly finding her skirt extremely fascinating. 

“Elain, are you blaming  _ me  _ for what happened at Hybern?” she asked, incredulity in her voice. She took her hand back, face contorting now from sympathy into contempt. 

Elain couldn’t bring herself to look at her sister, and merely turned away. She knew it was unfair, because Feyre had been brought here against her will. Simply because she’d learned to embrace it didn’t mean that Elain could spite her for it, and throw the last few months of comfort and luxury she’d given her back in Feyre’s face. 

But it didn’t mean she was happy. And at the shock of that truth, Elain could feel the tears finally start to well in her eyes.  _ It didn’t mean she was happy _ .

She had every comfort Prythian had to offer right at her fingertips, but she would still cry herself to sleep at night mourning Graysen, the man who’d reject her because of what was  _ done  _ to her body. To her  _ life.  _ She could still feel so alone, surrounded by the people who would always hold her at an arm’s length, tolerating her only because of her connection to Feyre. And she still found herself so pathetically, horribly  _ sad _ .

Elain’s mouth felt dry, and she knew that she wouldn’t be able to speak, wouldn’t be able to face the anger in her sister’s expression, had she turned around. 

“Cauldron, Elain, I’ve made mistakes. I won’t deny that. But I won’t let you blame me for this.”

Elain stayed silent. Her heart felt too heavy to breathe. 

“You won’t even look at me?” Feyre asked behind her. And although she didn’t ask it cruelly, there was no mistaking the hurt in her voice. 

Elain couldn’t. 

It was only a few moments before she heard her sister huff a disappointed sigh, then stand up from the armchair. “Come on, Mor,” Elain heard her mutter coldly. “I don’t think Elain feels like talking right now.”

And then the two females padded towards the door, opened it, and shut it behind them.

As soon as Elain heard the lock click, the tears were carving their way down her chin, thick and suffocatingly hot.

She felt so, so heavy, like a weight was holding her down, and suddenly it was too much effort to move, to make even a sound, as she cried. It was just her and her tears now, alone again. 

She’d thought it meant something, when she woke up to see Feyre at her bedside. She’d thought it meant that they were building up something of a real relationship - like sisters  _ should  _ have. But all it had taken was two sentences and all of it vanished into thin air, leaving her pathetically lonely again. 

And she hated it.

* * *

 

She hadn’t dared hope that, after last night, Azriel would return to see her again. He’d assured her, through every bit of embarrassment, that he was doing this of his own will, not as an obligation, and it was those words that had been circling through her mind ever since. 

_ I’m glad I’m here to take care of you.  _

At least she hadn’t driven him away the way she’d done Feyre and Mor, although Elain didn’t know if the two had told him about it and asked him to stay away. She didn’t think that Feyre would be  _ that  _ spiteful, but she supposed it wouldn’t make a difference, since she was in no position to see the shadowsinger now. 

She had long since cried herself out, hot rivers of tears spilling down her face and neck like blood from a wound until her body was simply too exhausted to entertain her despair anymore. But her eyes were puffy, bloodshot, and still crusted with the dried tears she hadn’t bothered to wipe away. Her cheeks and throat were sticky and salty, her sweat pasting strands of hair to her forehead. She felt like a mess inside, and knew that she at least looked the part. 

But it was only a few hours after her fight with Feyre that Elain heard a soft rap on her door. She flinched, wanting to bury herself so deep under the covers that whoever it was outside would never be able to find her. Cauldron, she didn’t care  _ who  _ it was - she didn’t want anyone to see her like this. 

She was a fool to think it could possibly be Feyre, but. . . “Who is it?” she called out weakly, realizing just how hoarse her voice had become. 

“It’s me,” she head a gentle male voice answer. “Azriel.”

_ Cauldron,  _ it was  _ him.  _ Now Elain wished she’d simply ignored him until he left, letting him assume she was sleeping. Because of all people, he was the one person she didn’t want to know about this. Her loneliness, her misery, the aching gap in her heart that seemed to consume her a little more each day. And yet. . .

_ I’m glad I’m here to take care of you.  _

And no matter how pathetically miserable she was feeling at the moment, her heart still warmed at the words. She felt something thaw inside her, a part that  _ wanted  _ someone to see, to tell her everything was going to be okay, that she didn’t have to worry. And of all people, Azriel, with his scarred hands and gentle eyes, seemed the most likely to do that for her. 

“Come in,” she found herself saying, the words spilling out so easily compared to the choking dread she’d felt with Feyre that morning. 

Slowly, she heard the doorknob turn, his utterly silent feet padding across the floor to her, only detectable if she looked at him out of the corner of her eyes. She heard him settle into the armchair at her bedside, quiet for a long moment. 

Even if she was able to invite him in, she wasn’t able to turn and face him until he spoke, realizing that Elain wasn’t going to do it first. “Hello, Elain,” he prompted. “How are you doing this morning? Are you feeling any better?”

Slowly, she turned around to face him, and it didn’t take a spymaster to know that she’d been crying before from her utterly wrecked face. 

But he didn’t so much as blink at the sight, although the roiling shadows at his feet betrayed the emotion he wouldn’t let show on his face. “You were crying,” he said softly, not entirely a question.

Elain didn’t see any use in lying, so she nodded. She felt almost naked, watching him scan her bloodshot eyes and tear stained cheeks, as if she’d cleaved open a part of her soul for him to see. 

And then he was reaching out his hand, bringing it to the strands of loose hair framing her sweaty face. Her eyes shuttered as he leaned in closer, brushing uneven, scarred hands over her damp forehead, just as he’d done the night before to soothe her. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked, his voice fragile like glass, breath tickling her ear. Her heart pounded at the closeness of his body, but she opened her eyes to face him.    
“Feyre and I had a fight,” she said, not wanting to explain that it had started with  _ him.  _ “She was part of the reason why I was Made. . .why I was sent  _ here.  _ And I told her that it was her fault. That it was because of her that I have to live in Prythian and deal with stupid cycles and a world I know  _ nothing  _ about.” 

Elain saw Azriel go still, hand stopping to rest at her temple. She hadn’t wanted to insult his homeland, but. . .

“Do you really hate it that much here?” Azriel asked after a long moment of silence. A careful question, one that would reveal exactly how miserable she was here. 

Elain sighed. “I don’t know,” she answered honestly. Because there were days when her garden was her only reprieve, the one thing that felt enough like home to soothe her. And then there were days she’d watch Rhys and Cassian and Azriel flying overhead and be utterly lost in the wonder that was this world, with its magic and wings and strange creatures. But today, all she could muster up in her heart for it was resentment. 

“I-I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask for  _ any  _ of this. I know I don’t fit in here, but I wouldn’t fit in in the human lands either and that makes me-” she choked on her own words, a lump already forming in her throat. “It makes me miserable. That I’ll feel either homesick here, or unloved anywhere else. I feel so, so  _ trapped.” _

Azriel’s eyes were soft now, as if he actually  _ understood.  _ “But it’s not Feyre’s fault,” he said carefully, honestly - forever the loyal spymaster to his High Lady. 

But Elain couldn’t blame him for saying that, because deep down, she knew there was no one to blame for the sadness she felt in Prythian. “I-I know that,” she started, because she did - she really did. “But it doesn’t mean that I can be happy here. That just because it’s not her fault doesn’t mean I can’t get angry or sad or miserable.”

“No one said that, Elain. No one said that you had to automatically adjust, and Feyre, of all people, would be the first to understand what you’re going through.”   
Elain looked up at him now, confusion furrowing her eyebrows. “Feyre? But. . .she always seems so. . .happy. Content with her perfect life and her perfect mate and her perfect kingdom.”

Azriel actually let out a small laugh then, stunning Elain.  _ “Cauldron,  _ Elain, she wasn’t always like that. I’ve known Feyre for two years, and when I met her, she was  _ miserable _ . She was not okay, and wasn’t for a very, very long time.”

Elain didn’t know whether she was breathing.  _ Her  _ sister, the one who was always laughing and smiling with this group, could possibly feel. . .like her? And the thought that Feyre would have gone through this, the pain and fear and aching that had near broken Elain already, made her suddenly want to sob for her sister. She knew what it was, to not be able to get out of bed in the morning and cry yourself to sleep, and she wouldn’t even wish on anyone. Not on Nesta, not on even her worst enemy - and definitely not her wonderfully happy sister. 

Azriel, sensing the narrative that was now running through Elain’s mind, resumed the motions with his hand, calming her. “Why?” Elain asked him, barely a breath of noise in the face of the horrifying knowledge Azriel had just presented her with. 

“Because she had been Made as well, died and came back to life in a body she had no idea how to navigate. Because she was engaged to someone who treated her like a possession to be polished and kept in a glass box. Because she wasn’t able to cope with the person she thought she had become. And then she came to us, and everyone could see, plain as day, that she  _ wasn’t  _ okay. But it was because of Rhys and Mor and everyone else that she was able to climb out of that hole, to find a light in the darkness.”

Elain felt like sobbing. “I never thought. . .” she started. She’d known the basic story, how Feyre had left Tamlin for the Night Court, but she had no idea what she had gone through during that time. . .

Azriel sighed now. “She deserves her happiness. She has fought and bled and died for it, and she finally has it. And you can’t hate her for wanting to experience it to the fullest.”

Elain turned to him now, feeling stupid and broken-hearted for the side of her sister she’d never known existed. Cauldron, her  _ little sister _ , who had gone through so much - first as a human living with her, and then in this world which she’d had to figure out how all on her own. “I had no idea. I h-had no-” she was sputtering now, shame coloring her cheeks. 

Azriel shook his head, cutting her off. “Elain, it isn’t your fault either. It’s none of yours. But I thought you should know what your sister has been through. What she has endured.”

Elain could only nod. “I’m sorry for insulting Prythian the way I did,” she blurted out then, feeling absolutely awful for everything. 

“That, you don’t have to apologize for,” Azriel said warmly, and it comforted Elain more than he would ever know. “But. . .would you like to give it a chance, at least?”

Elain’s eyes shot to his, seeing the question there. And she knew, if Elain was so opposed to it, he wouldn’t push. He would let her try to relive the life she’d had in her old village, a human trapped in a Fae body. And she’d certainly tried to, this past year, except. . .that did nothing to ease the homesickness. It only worsened the ache when it turned out that reality was so different and unfamiliar. 

And Azriel looked so earnest and open there, waiting expectantly for her answer. . . that Elain found herself nodding. “I’m not sure how much I’d like it, but. . .I suppose it couldn’t hurt to try.” 

At that, she saw the corner of Azriel’s mouth quirk up, and even the small hint of a smile sent her heart into overdrive. “I can show you, Elain. Why this place is so special to me - and your sister.”

“And how exactly are you going to do that?” Elain prompted.

His half smile only grew now, and Elain could actually see  _ dimples  _ forming on his cheeks. “By taking you out for a night to see it” he supplied. “If you’d let me?”

And for all the things that had happened to her, all of the angry words and playful teasing and stories she’d heard, Elain knew that she might be able to forget the rest, but she would always remember today - if only because of that one sentence. 


	10. Azriel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Azriel plans his date with Elain.

The next day, Azriel was back at the florist’s shop - only this time, in search of a different flower, for a different female. He’d barely remembered the roses he’d bought two nights ago for Mor, Elain being the sole item on his mind that night. And when he’d returned to his room at four in the morning, he could only think of Elain’s soft hair and skin beneath his hand, her breath warming his face, her brown eyes that were so easy to lose himself in. He’d taken one look at the forgotten bouquet, wilting from the lack of hydration, and gently placed it in the trash.

He’d had no intention of giving it to Mor after that.

The florist, of course, recognized him at the doorway as the High Lord’s spymaster, and smiled graciously when he entered. “More flowers?” she asked. “Must be one special female.”

Azriel didn’t bother to correct her on  _ who  _ the flowers had been for last time, opting to smile shyly instead. “I was looking for a specific one. . .moonflower?” he asked. He’d seen the signature blossoms all over Velaris, year round. In the day, they were simple, unmemorable white buds. But at night, when the city itself bloomed with life, the flowers did as well, displaying soft, moonlight-white petals that practically glowed in the darkness. Every garden and patio had them. He hadn’t even known what they were called until Elain had pointed them out one night at dinner, saying how rare they were in the human lands. 

That remark alone had been enough to send him to the florist as part of his plan for his date with her. All it had taken was a “yes” from her lips and Azriel found himself unable to stop thinking about it. Where should he take her? What should he wear? And, of course, what flowers would he buy for her? At least, on the last one, he felt a little confident. Though the rest left him woefully paranoid with what she would feel.

And it wasn’t simply the fact that it was a date with  _ Elain,  _ which was reason enough to panic, but the fact that this night would be a test of his home - whether she could ever love it, see see herself happy living amongst the Fae of Velaris. And Azriel had saw, yesterday, how much it tortured her to live in Prythian, how much she’d kept under wraps. He knew what it was like to not belong, and even though he’d eventually found his brothers and his family, Elain deserved that too. And he would do everything in his power so that she would never shed a tear over this place. He would make it as wonderful and comfortable for her as she needed. Starting with this date, of course. 

“Of course, Spymaster. We always have them in stock.” the florist answered him, snapping Azriel out of his reverie. He nodded graciously as the florist disappeared into the racks, bursting with floral creations, until she emerged with a crate of moonflowers. 

“Would you like some pots as well?”

Already an idea was forming in his mind at the sight of the budded flowers, so many crammed into the crate it seemed like it would burst. He felt a smile come to his cheeks before he could stop it, just imagining Elain’s face when she saw them. 

He nodded at the florist again, but was still lost in visions of Elain. Her pretty mouth, smiling for  _ him. _ Her eyes lighting up at what  _ he’d  _ done for her. 

After that, Azriel, no matter how hard he tried, could not keep his mouth from curving back up.

* * *

 

Soon enough, night descended onto Velaris. City dwellers crawled out of their day jobs to see the brilliance of their court, the stars so bright and infinite above them that barely any would stay inside. Not when it felt like the entire universe was compressed into their sky. 

Five hours. That’s how long he’d been out, planning his date with Elain.  _ Cauldron,  _ Azriel thought, realizing that he hadn’t spent this much time on such a thing in decades. And yet here he was, making reservations and buying flowers and chocolates for the sweet-faced female he couldn’t seem to stay away from. But he could find no embarrassment in his heart, because for her, he would spend  _ days  _ trying to create a perfect evening in Velaris. 

He actually found himself feeling. . . _ lighter.  _ Like just the thought of a few hours alone with Elain, talking with her, laughing with her, was enough to take the shadows away. It scared him -  _ terrified  _ him - to think that for once, when he thought of the female he’d want sitting across from him at a table, lying next to, he didn’t see Mor. He saw Elain. He saw happiness and light and  _ possibility  _ with her - that maybe, she could give him the happiness that he had never gotten with Mor. That maybe, if he looked into Elain’s eyes long enough, Mor wouldn’t exist anymore. And all of the pain and longing that had come from loving the blonde female wouldn’t either. 

_ I just want you to be happy,  _ Mor’s words rang in his mind then. And Azriel thought that if everything went well tomorrow night, if Elain liked the flowers and the restaurant he’d picked and  _ him _ . . .he might be able to be. Not just for an hour, not just for a night - but forever. A happiness that wouldn’t fade with time, but grow stronger and brighter every time he saw Elain walk through a door. Azriel hadn’t realized how much he wanted that until he did. 

He’d been so lost in his thoughts walking back to the townhouse, that he hadn’t even realized where he was going until he was standing in front of Rita’s. Hands in his pockets, he watched as drunk revelers stumbled outside, nighttime partners attempting to guide them away. He heard the boom of the music inside, so familiar from all the evenings he’d spent here, watching Mor on the floor. He smiled, knowing that she was probably inside tonight as well, dancing and drinking in one of her signature red dresses. 

He was about to turn away and head back the  _ right  _ way, when he saw two women leave Rita’s, leaning on each other. A dark haired Illyrian weaved her fingers through the other’s long blonde hair - High Fae. They stumbled into the wall together, laughing cheerily before the dark haired one leaned in to press her lips against the blonde’s, both of them giggling between kisses.

Most wouldn’t think much of it. Because it was dark, because it was such a common scene, because there was no way to tell  _ who  _ the two women where without getting closer. But Azriel was a shadowsinger, trained brutally for years in stealth and secrecy to hone his powers into the spymaster he now was.

And he, at the same time, had been in love with the one woman for five hundred years. He knew her blonde hair. He knew her wine-colored dress. He knew her laugh, her scent, everything he could possibly know simply by being near her for practically his entire life. 

And he knew, without a doubt, that the blonde female in front of him was Mor. 

Every single thought eddied out of Azriel’s head, and he was as still and dark as a shadow, unable to move from his spot. He couldn’t seem to process the scene in front of him, because Mor. . .

He was a spymaster. A shadowsinger. Cauldron, he should’ve  _ known.  _

But he didn’t. And now he was standing here, utterly shocked to see the same female he’d loved for so long, kissing this woman so happily, so calmly. Because, no, it wasn’t a surprise for  _ her  _ \- just for him, foolishly pining over a woman who would never,  _ ever  _ love him back. 

And that’s when the hurt hit, like a punch to the gut, stealing the air from his legs. He felt woozy. He felt sick. He felt  _ betrayed.  _

That Mor had led him on for so long, had not bothered to even tell him that he didn’t stand a chance. That his feelings were worth so little to her that she didn’t care about how many nights he’d spent awake, wondering if they were mates. Wondering how he could love Mor so fiercely and feel no tug, no bond with her. 

But  _ of course he wouldn’t.  _ Because Mor would never be his. And he would never be hers. 

And suddenly he was unable to stand there another minute, unable to watch Mor obliviously hack his heart to pieces - a heart that had felt so full this afternoon, a heart that had so foolishly thought that he could somehow let her go. Let  _ all of it  _ go. But  _ this. . . _ this he couldn’t ignore. 

He didn’t care how loud he was as he flared out his wings, preparing to take off. He didn’t care about  _ anything  _ as he shot off into the sky, so abruptly that he was sure even Mor, in her inebriated state, would hear him. 

But it broke Azriel’s heart to think that maybe she didn’t really  _ care.  _ That she was content to string him along and simply hide her preferences if it meant not having to tell him. 

No one who loved him the way he thought Mor had would ever do that to him. 

He didn’t know where he was going as he soared through the sky, feeling so heavy and dark that he could barely move his wings back and forth. Now that the shock had worn away, all that was left was aching hopelessness and anger. And pain. The pain of closing his eyes, only to see Mor and the female again, and receive another stab of hurt. 

Azriel didn’t cry. He had always prided himself on being able to keep his emotions inside, bottled up so tightly and so neatly that none would ever spill out. But even his shadows could not save him this time as he flew against the wind, biting into his face.

He felt tears well in his eyes, and for a few moments he tried to blink them away. Tried to pretend it was just the icy wind, and not Mor. 

But then they were pouring down his cheeks, a jarring heat against the cold night sky, and he couldn’t ignore it. He felt the sobs building up in his throat, and let them out. The strangled, anguished noises that he hadn’t heard himself make in centuries. Vulnerable cries that he wouldn’t be able to stand anyone seeing him make. 

But here was completely and utterly detached, and he didn’t care. He let the wind take away his voice and tears as they came, and Azriel cried himself out, all alone, letting the sky take in every bit of unshed frustration and sorrow in his heart. 


	11. Elain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elain decides she doesn't want to be alone anymore.

No one had seen Azriel all day.

Yesterday, when Nuala had shrugged after Elain asked where he was, she’d entertained the possibility that maybe, he’d been planning their date that day. She was almost embarrassed at the thought, because she knew that Azriel probably had more pressing issues to deal with than  _ her _ \- but she couldn’t help but smile at the thought of him making a reservation at some fancy Velaris restaurant just for the two of them, maybe even buying her _ flowers _ . . .

Elain had felt like a lovestruck idiot, despite the male who’d been occupying her thoughts the entire day nowhere in sight. She’d spent the afternoon and evening with Nuala and Cerridwen, who wanted to know  _ everything  _ about their supposed “relationship.”

“It’s really nothing,” Elain had protested shyly, turning away from Cerridwen’s piercing gaze. 

“Yes, because Azriel hugs  _ everyone,  _ right, Nuala?” Cerridwen quipped, sarcasm dripping from her voice. 

“Oh, of course. Not a day goes by when he doesn’t stay by  _ my _ bedside until I fall asleep,  _ either,” _ Nuala added, and Elain blushed a fiery red. From their perspective, her situation seemed intimate indeed. 

But today, when he still hadn’t shown up, Elain began to have her doubts. They’d agreed on seven o’clock the day after her cycle ended, and she’d been counting the hours every since - not that she’d ever admit it.

Now, it was six in the evening, and Elain was currently alternating between staring at the clock or staring at herself in the mirror, wearing the gown she’d chosen for the date. It had taken hours of frantically rummaging through her closet, Cerridwen constantly reassuring her that Azriel would find her beautiful even if she wore her nightgown (“Perhaps even more,” Nuala couldn’t resist adding, which did nothing to calm her nerves), before finally settling on this one. 

It was a floor length, teal blue gown with lace flowers sown in at almost every piece of fabric - from the sheer sleeves and cinched bodice, to the long, flowing tresses beneath it. She felt breezy and beautiful in it. . .and she only hoped Azriel would find that there as well. 

Yesterday, trying it on with the two wraiths, she’d imagined gliding onto the balcony, the picture of elegance. Azriel would take one look, and then his stoic facade would crumble. He’d gaze at her, eyes raw and full of awe, and say,  _ “You’re beautiful,”  _ so softly and reverently she could scarcely hear it.

Today, she was simply hoping he’d be there to see it at all. 

_ He said seven,  _ she reminded herself, trying to soothe the tangle of nerves in her stomach.  _ It’s only six. He’ll be there.  _

But then it became six thirty, and Elain was waiting at the balcony for someone she feared wasn’t coming. She took care not to let the wind tussle the soft curls she’d put into her hair, or touch the blush and eye makeup she’d let Cerridwen put on. 

When the clock struck seven, Elain’s heart was pounding with desperation. Had she gotten the date wrong? Or the time? Maybe he was running late or buying flowers like she’d imagined him doing the day before or maybe. . .

_ Maybe he’d just forgotten.  _

The thought bounced around in her head angrily, Elain’s hands tightening anxiously on the railing. She searched the sky for at least an hour for the shadowsinger, and when the rosy dusk sky finally bled into the indigo blue of the night, she knew that there were no “maybes” to entertain her hopes with. 

He wasn’t coming. 

At  nine thirty, she felt so stupid, standing there with her beautiful gown, hair done up so carefully and face painted so elegantly. There was no shadowsinger coming to take her out. There was no Azriel smiling down at her, dimples and all, asking her to spend a night with him. There were no scarred hands gently stroking her hair until she fell asleep. 

There was no one, and nothing, and Elain was all alone. 

Bitterness bled into her heart like a stain, because  _ of course. Of course it wasn’t real,  _ she seethed to herself, wanting to rip her beautiful gown right off her body. To destroy any and all reminders that she once had hope for something else. A hope that maybe, just maybe, she wouldn’t have to be so alone here. 

She was so tired of hoping. So tired of the feeling being shattered to pieces. She wanted to erase every bit of happiness and sweetness Azriel had ever given her. 

And yet. . .

Even as her eyes pricked with tears, and even though she could feel the familiar lump settle in her throat, Elain didn’t want to lock herself in her room again. She didn’t want to cry herself to sleep, muffled sobs against a pillow only she could hear. She didn’t want to wake up alone again, a reminder that she had hoped, had opened her heart so fully, and nothing had come of it. 

She  _ needed  _ someone. 

Elain eyed the corridor in front of her. Her room was so close. All she’d have to do was manage a few steps without bursting into tears, and then she’d have all night to bawl her heart out. All alone in the darkness, not a soul to hear her. 

But then. . .across the hall, there was Feyre and Rhys’ room, where her sister was no doubt lounging inside with her mate. Not a care in the world, certainly not for Elain feelings.

But what if Feyre  _ did  _ know? How broken she felt now, heart shattered and mind a whirlwind of pain. What if she opened the door, letting the tears spill, showing her sister every aching bit of sadness that wallowed in her heart? 

What would Feyre do then?

Azriel’s words came back to her, no matter how much pain they brought her. 

_ She, of all people, would understand.  _

_ She was not okay - not for a long time.  _

And that made Elain suck in a breath. Because if Feyre could understand, even just a little bit, how much agony Elain was in, she couldn’t possibly leave her to endure it alone. . .would she? Elain knew that if  _ Feyre _ came to her claiming to suffer even a sliver of what Elain was going through. . .she would never turn her back. Because they were sisters, and because Elain would not wish this on even her worst enemy. 

And that thought, of the bond between them, was what set Elain’s feet moving toward Feyre’s door. 

She felt her heart pounding in her chest, louder and more frantic than it ever had before. Because this wasn’t fear like it was being thrown into the Cauldron, not like twisting a knife into the King of Hybern’s chest. 

She brought a shaky fist to the door, breathing in deeply.

This was her heart she was placing in Feyre’s hands, for better or worse. 

So before she could change her mind, before she could tell herself this was too big a risk to take, she knocked. 

“Elain?” Feyre asked, and her voice, lilting and confused, sent Elain’s heart into a frenzy, sweat now pooling in her palms.

She saw Rhys behind Feyre, peering at her quizzically. Elain opened her mouth to speak, but found no words. She’d made it this far, staring her sister in the face, but her voice was stuck behind the lump in her throat. 

“Are you alright?” Feyre continued, and Elain saw the concern in her face, eyebrows furrowed. There was no apprehension, no anger. . .as if she really  _ did _ care if Elain was alright. 

Her sister’s compassionate expression brought air back into her lungs, and she was able to shakily say, “I need to speak with you.” 

Feyre immediately nodded, turning back to Rhys. “Can you leave us alone for awhile?” she whispered, but Rhys was already moving towards the door. He seemed to sense from Elain’s expression or posture that this was not a conversation he was intended to hear. 

He slipped out the door with a hand on his mate’s shoulder, and then they were alone.

Feyre turned to Elain, gesturing her inside. Their room was much smaller than she would’ve thought the High Lord and Lady would give themselves, papers covering a small desk and even part of the vanity.  A huge bed lay in the middle, sheets wrinkled and strewn about. There was clearly an air of intimacy in this room, a sanctuary where Rhys and Feyre could be their barest, most vulnerable selves with each other. 

And there Elain was, sitting on that same bed, feeling more like an intruder than she ever had in her life. 

Feyre didn’t seem to think so though, as she pressed a warm hand to Elain’s shoulder. “What’s wrong?” she asked softly, rubbing her thumb across her shoulder blade. 

For a brief moment, Elain thought of lying. Telling her it was all a mistake, that she was perfectly fine, and then retreating back to her room. But she hadn’t made it this far simply to isolate herself once more. 

_ No,  _ she told herself.  _ You will not be alone. Not tonight. _

So she picked herself up, turned to Feyre, and told her everything. About her and Azriel’s friendship, about the flowers and the day in the forest. How he’d helped her during her cycle and, of course, his date with her. . .Or, lack thereof. 

At the end of it all, Feyre’s face was twisted in confusion. “That doesn’t sound like Azriel,” she mused, frowning. “He would never stand  _ anyone  _ up like that - especially not you.”

Elain cringed. “But he did,” she said softly, and the tears threatened to spill over again. She’d managed to keep them in check this entire time, and only the relief of finally being able to  _ talk  _ to someone about this was what had reigned them in. 

“Oh no, Elain!” Feyre murmured, bringing her fingers to Elain’s cheeks. “Don’t cry. It’s going to be okay.”

Elain felt startled, seeing how distraught it made Feyre to see her in this state. If only she’d known about all the other times she’d been in the same situation. 

Elain must not have looked convinced, because Feyre then wrapped her into a tight hug. “It’s going to be alright, I promise,” she said soothingly into Elain’s ear. “Don’t think about Azriel. No matter what it was that made him stand you up tonight, it doesn’t matter right now.”

And Elain was surprised at how much her words melted her heart, how much they comforted her. She wanted to stay in her sister’s arms forever, in the bubble of love and tenderness Feyre had made for her. 

“I’m sorry I got mad at you the other day,” Elain managed to say back, squeezing her sister. Because in that one moment, she could only feel the love Feyre had for her - none of the exclusion and loneliness. Here, she was the center of Feyre’s attention. Here, she felt the sisterly love she’d wanted ever since seeing her again at their house. 

“I’m sorry too, Elain. I didn’t realize how hard it was for you here. I should’ve tried to help you more.” Feyre pulled back to cup Elain’s face in her hands. “I love you so, so much. . .I wish I’d known how much pain you were in.”

“I wish I’d told you,” Elain answered back, her heart feeling so much fuller than it had when she’d locked herself away from everyone. “I just wanted  _ one person  _ to be there for me. To hold me and tell me everything was going to be okay. I thought Azriel. . .”

Feyre’s grip tightened around her, eyes glassy.  _ “I’m  _ always going to be there for you, Elain. No matter what. You will  _ always  _ have me.”

And she said it with such certainty, such conviction, that Elain could barely think about Azriel anymore. Only about the sister she’d finally found, after so long, right in front of her. Willing to share her burdens and joys and everything in between - not because she had to, but because she wanted Elain in her life. Enough that she’d let her in today, sat with her like she truly cared. 

But then Elain faltered, and a thought occurred to her. “And what about you? What about letting  _ me  _ be there for  _ you?”  _

Feyre looked away, sloping her hands down Elain’s shoulders and arms. “I’m not the one who needs help, Elain.”

“Not just  _ help,  _ Feyre,” Elain said. She shook her head, unable to keep it in anymore. “Why didn’t you tell me that you and Rhys were trying to have a child?”

Her sister’s face shot to hers. “How do you know that?” she breathed, eyes wide and frantic. “We haven’t told anybody.”

“Nuala said that Rhys told Madja he didn’t need a tonic anymore.” Elain stiffened then, expecting anger from Feyre at this breach of privacy, gossip that she definitely wasn’t supposed to have heard. No matter that she felt hurt by not learning it from Feyre herself. 

But then Feyre’s mouth curved into a smile, and a soft laugh rasped out of her. “Those wraiths can get information out of  _ anyone,  _ can’t they?” Elain couldn’t help but laugh with her, knowing how much Nuala and Cerridwen gossiped every single day. 

But then Feyre’s expression turned solemn, staring Elain down. “Look. . .I didn’t know that you’d  _ want  _ to hear about any of this. About me, and about Rhys, and my life.”

Elain jerked back. “How could you say that, Feyre!” she fumed, crossing her arms angrily. “I’m your  _ sister!  _ Ever since I’ve got here all that I’ve wanted from you is to tell me what’s going on in your life. What you’re  _ doing.  _ And I’ve gotten nothing. I’ve had to sit on the sidelines of your family’s conversations while you entertained  _ them  _ and not me. How do you think that makes me feel?”

Feyre cringed at her sudden outburst, now looking sheepish. “Elain. . .I’m so sorry. Again. For everything. For getting mad at you, for ignoring you. . .I’ve been a horrible sister.”

Elain softened at Feyre’s hung head, shame coloring her cheeks. Had she not realized that all Elain had wanted was to be her sister? Feyre’s indifferent and distant behaviour towards her had been what kept her away, kept her alone and unwilling to display the pain in her heart. Because, obviously, her sister didn’t  _ act  _ like she wanted to know. . .

“I thought you didn’t care,” Elain said now. 

Feyre shook her head, taking Elain’s hands in hers. “I  _ always  _ cared. And I feel like such shit now for not showing it. For not treating you the way you deserved to be treated.”

Elain felt her heart break at that, the apology she’d been wanting all this time. That it wasn’t Elain’s fault that she was alone, that she didn’t have a sister to confide in. 

_ But you have that now,  _ Elain thought to herself, and smiled. She was about to tell Feyre just how much those words meant to her, when they heard a knock at the door.    
“Feyre?” a distinctly female voice called outside. “Rhys told me you were in here. . .”

It was Mor. 


	12. Azriel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Azriel tries to get his shit together.

Azriel flew all night. Minutes bled into hours as he soared through the clouds, only him and the wind so high in the sky. He barely felt the stinging cold on his wings and exposed skin, couldn’t tell if most of his tears were from the brittle gusts or his own despair. But he could barely fool himself into thinking it was the former.

The first two hours, he hadn’t known where he was going. He just knew he needed to  _ get away -  _ from Mor and the female, from his own thoughts and speculations, from his breaking heart. He only managed to escape one of them.

It had taken a while until the shadowsinger in himself reigned back his emotions, swelling and slowly suffocating his mind, enough to let in rational thought.

Mor was. . . _ not straight _ . He knew he couldn’t assume, couldn’t categorize her in any way without any details. No matter how broken he felt, and no matter how much he blamed her for it, he knew he had seen something Mor had apparently felt was private enough to hide from him - and he had to respect that.  

_ But why?  _ That was the one question that he couldn’t rationally puzzle out. Maybe some part of him simply didn’t want to know. 

Because it would hurt more to know that she cared so little about him to think that he didn’t deserve to know. Or that he simply wasn’t worth her time. Or that it was just easier to leave him agonizing over her than allow him to move on. He wanted to - so, so badly. But he couldn’t - not when he felt so small and insignificant to the one female he held with the utmost esteem in his heart for so long. Not when he felt like everything he and Mor had ever experienced together was a lie. 

How many times had he excruciatingly picked apart every word and sentence said to him, trying to discern what was merely friendship and what could possibly be. . .more? Now, at least, he knew the answer. He just wished he’d found out the right way.

But as night began to bleed into dawn, magenta hues coloring the edge of the horizon, he knew he had to go  _ somewhere.  _ He couldn’t stay in the beautifully quiet, lonely sky forever, sorting through all of his feelings for Mor. Unfortunately, he was hungry and exhausted - emotionally  _ and _ physically. 

Azriel only then realized that he’d been flying towards the sacred Illyrian mountain, Ramiel. The three stars above it faintly shone in the early dawn, a shape both holy and representative of the Night Court. Below it, nestled between snow and rock lay one of the biggest Illyrian camps in the region. Luckily, it happened to be the same one Nesta and Cassian were staying in at the moment.

_ Cassian,  _ Azriel thought, surprised at the desperation he felt then. As if, more than anything, he wanted someone to be there for him. To listen and tell him all of the right things to ease his heart, so heavy right then. He wanted to give his burdens to someone else to tame and soothe - just this once. He wanted to lay them bare without having to give a fuck, because someone would be there to pick up the pieces.

He wanted his  _ brother.  _

_ “Az?” _ Cassian barked, voice thick with sleep. “What the  _ fuck,   _ it’s  _ five in the morning!”  _ He blinked groggily at Azriel in the doorway. Cassian was in nothing but sleeping shorts, hair a tangled mess at his shoulders. 

“You’d be awake in an hour anyway for training,” Azriel couldn’t resist saying. He was surprised that even now, nothing stopped him from being able to reply to Cassian, as comfortable as usual. It made him want to smile, how close they were. . .not that he’d ever let any of his brothers know that. 

Cassian shook his head, rubbing at his eyes. “That’s not the point. I was up till two, all right? I barely got to sleep before you knocked on my door.”

“Doing  _ what,  _ Cassian? I’ve never seen you stay up for more than an hour after training.”

Azriel could’ve sworn Cassian’s cheeks reddened ever so slightly at that, but he turning away, waving him off. “That doesn’t matter. What are you doing here?”

But then the easiness was gone, replaced with the hurt he’d become familiar with these past few hours. Azriel bit his lip. It was four in the morning, and he’d woken the general commander of the Illyrian armies to talk about Mor, of all things. He could come back later. 

Azriel started to back away, shaking his head apologetically. “It can wait until later - just go ba-” he started.

“Hey,” Cassian said, now at alert. He grabbed Azriel’s arm, keeping him in the doorway. “You wouldn’t have come here at all if it wasn’t important.”

His brother knew him too well. Well enough that, on the rare occasion Azriel wanted to talk, or opened up in any way, he knew it was never something frivolous. If Azriel crawled out of his shadows enough to admit that he  _ needed  _ someone, both Cassian and Rhys would drop everything to be there for him.

“You look like shit. What happened?” Cassian asked, grimacing at what Azriel presumed was a pretty sorry state. 

But before he could reply, the exhaustion of flying through cold, eighty-mile winds for five hours straight rammed into him. Suddenly, Azriel could barely keep his eyes open, finding his limbs leaden with fatigue. “I’ve been flying all night,” he said, voice hoarse. 

Cassian blinked in surprise, now leading Azriel into his cabin. “What? Az, why? What’s going on?” he demanded, now worried. 

Azriel shook his head, waving Cassian away. “No, it’s not urgent. Can I just. . .sleep  - and then tell you?” Azriel collapsed onto the sleeping pad in the middle of the living room, knowing that if he closed his eyes now, he wouldn’t open them.

Cassian nodded, crossing his arms over his bare chest. “You’re going to be alright?” he asked, but Azriel was already drifting off. . .

Seven o’clock. He’d slept for fourteen hours. 

It felt so wrong, laying on Cassian’s beat-up sleeping pad at dusk, only just waking up. He could count on his fingers the times he’d stayed asleep for that long, and throughout the day too  - coming back from both battles with Hybern, and then the day after the Blood Rite. 

Nothing even comparably drastic had happened this time, and Azriel assumed the only reason Cassian didn’t drag him out of bed to train was because he understood, in some way, that Azriel didn’t need to be pushed today. He silently thanked Cassian for it, even if it made him feel stupid - sleeping away the day while the Illyrian soldiers trained outside. 

“Finally up, you lazy ass?” Cassian asked in greeting, coming through the bedroom doorway into the common space. 

“It’s not like you woke me up,” Azriel said, still feeling slightly embarrassed. 

Cassian shot him a grin. “I took pity on you,” he answered, which Azriel knew, from spending his entire life with the male, was a subtle offering to talk. 

Azriel looked down, not wanting to make small talk anymore. Some part him was utterly choked up, unable to speak. First, from waking up Cassian to talk about his  _ feelings,  _ something that he hadn’t been able to do in five hundred years without prompting and excessive persuasion, and now, from sleeping away the day only because his brother  _ let  _ him. 

But another part of him knew that Cassian wasn’t an idiot. He saw what Azriel needed, and didn’t hesitate helping him feel as comfortable as possible when he was clearly not okay.  _ I’m not okay,  _ Azriel thought with a start. Because he wasn’t. He felt hurt and betrayed, and resentful that he felt so broken over a situation he had very little to blame Mor for. 

Azriel knew Cassian cared. He knew his brother would be there for him. And that comfort, that confidence that he had a  _ family  _ like Cassian to depend on, was what made him open his mouth.

“It’s Mor,” he said. The female had largely remained unspoken between them, given that Azriel had tried to keep his true feelings as close to himself as possible. He’d never even made a move - so why would he talk to any of his brothers about it? But even if Azriel was the spymaster, he couldn’t keep secrets from his brothers. He was sure they knew - even if he had never so much as spoken the words out loud.

But now. . .he didn’t care. He wanted to move on. He didn’t want to feel his heart fracture all over again whenever he heard her name, or remembered the scene last night. He wanted everything to  _ go away . . .  _ and maybe, if he spoke the words out loud for Cassian, it would hurt less. 

But he couldn’t let him know the actual  _ specifics  _ of what he’d seen. Nothing would excuse him, if he outed her to Cassian. He knew he didn’t get to decide how she did it. . .even if he wished she’d actually done it at all in the first place.

“What about her?” Cassian asked, a new edge of caution in his voice. He leaned against the doorway, but Azriel could see the tension in his stance. This was dangerous territory.

“Something happened, and. . .” he started.  _ This was it. _ “Ineverhadachance, Cassian,” he blurted out, a rush of emotion pouring out like a wave. He clenched his hands at his side, unable to look up. Unable to see the result of laying himself bare for his brother, more openly than he ever had before. “It was five hundred years, and now I know. That it was never going to happen, and it never will. And I’ll have to move on, whether I like it or not, because otherwise it’ll just. . .”  _ break me,  _ he wanted to say. It would break his heart to want to be with her when everything was screaming at him that he couldn’t. That he’d never be hers. 

“I was doing so good. I was doing  _ better.  _ But I didn’t even get to do it my way, come to terms with it on my  _ own.  _ I thought I understood Mor. Our situation. I didn’t - not even close.” 

And then the words were out, sinking to the floor between them like immovable, unignorable weights. Weights that he’d taken from his heart, vulnerabilities now an offering to Cassian. 

“Az. . .” Cassian started. Azriel still couldn’t look up. “I’m so sorry. Whatever happened, I’m so sorry.”

He heard Cassian’s footsteps on the floor, moving towards him. He heard him sigh. “But you’re an idiot if you think Mor doesn’t love you with all her heart, and would hate that you’re sitting here, right now, like this.”  _ Heartbroken,  _ was what he didn’t need to say. “She’d never want that, no matter what she did. Mor loves you. I love you. Rhys loves you. So does Amren, even if she’ll never admit it.”

Azriel found the strength to look up at Cassian, and stood up from the sleeping pad himself. He found sorrow in his brother’s eyes - sad to see Azriel in pain, but not pitiful. Never that. Because he knew that Cassian really did love him, even if, sometimes, it felt like he was alone against the world, against his feelings. Even if he needed a reminder sometimes, that he had a  _ family,  _ and that he was  _ loved  _ by so many people. That Mor’s rejection wasn’t a rejection from everyone’s love - he had  _ Cassian _ , standing in front of him with all of the compassion he’d needed at the moment. 

“Thanks,” Azriel replied hoarsely, trying to keep down the lump in his throat. For the second time in twenty-four hours, he wanted to cry - but this time, for a completely different reason. 

Cassian put his hand on Azriel’s shoulder, face softening into a half smile. “You’re okay, Az?” he said, as if he was trying to reassure himself more than anything. 

Azriel nodded. Because he knew he’d made the right decision, coming to Cassian. He was reminded, once again, that he didn’t  _ have  _ to be alone, and that there were people who actually cared about what he was going through, no matter what it was. 

And then his brother was crushing him into a hug, hands wrapped tight around him. It took Azriel a moment before embracing Cassian as well, but when he did, he didn’t let go. It was a rare occasion when Azriel would hold onto a hug so tightly - a rare occasion when he received one at all. But standing there, letting Cassian shoulder some of his burdens like the true brother he was, Azriel didn’t care.

Suddenly, a loud, jarring knock at the door ripped through the intimacy of the moment. “Cassian!” snapped a distinctly sharp, female voice outside. “I left my shirt here last night! Can I have it back?”

_ Cauldron,  _ Azriel thought, immediately jumping away from Cassian to stare at him.  _ That’s Nesta.  _

His face shot to Cassian’s, eyes wide and unable to contain his amusement. But Cassian was pursing his lips, eyes closing - as if he knew exactly what Azriel’s face looked like at the moment, and didn’t want to see it. He sighed, rubbing his face with a hand. “Can you come back later,  Nes?” he called out, still not meeting Azriel’s eyes. “I’m a little busy!”

There was an audibly dramatic sigh from Nesta, then the stomping of boots as she walked away. 

A moment of silence as the footsteps faded away.

“So that’s what you were doing up last night,” Azriel mused, laughter in his voice, breaking through any embarrassment his brother had at that. 

Cassian chucked a pillow at him.

“I trust she’s doing okay?” Azriel said, continuing on. “Elain’s been worri-” he started, then cut off, realizing what he’d done. 

_ Elain.  _

_ FUCK.  _


	13. Elain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mor, Elain, and Feyre have a very important talk (picks up where chapter 11 left off).

Feyre raised an eyebrow at Elain.  _ Your call, _ her eyes seemed to say, darting towards the door. Where Mor waited behind.    
Elain debated shaking her head, simply to get more time with her sister, but Mor. . . She had helped Elain with Azriel in the past. After all, she did know him the best - and her advice hadn’t suggested that she had any romantic feelings for him.

  
And if there was one thing Elain had learned tonight, it was that there wasn’t any shame in asking for help when you needed it.    
Elain nodded to Feyre, who smiled slightly and called, “You can come in, Mor.”

  
The lock turned, and the blonde female emerged. Yet, she had none of her usual confidence and swagger. Makeup was smeared across her face, lines of mascara dripping from her eyes as if tears had dragged them down. Her eyes were red, cheeks blotchy, and her brown eyes were a swirling mixture of pain and guilt. 

  
Elain’s breath hitched at the sight, wondering who could have such power over the strong, self-assured Morrigan to drag her down to such a state. 

  
“Oh. . . Hi, Elain.” She started, voice hoarse. 

  
Elain rose quickly, knowing that she couldn’t impose on Mor, especially now. “I can leave,” she started softly, trying to give Mor a compassionate smile. Feyre seemed to give Elain a longing glance as she stood, not wanting to part with her sister in such a vulnerable time. It warmed her heart, the concern she could finally see in her sister’s eyes, but shook her head anyway. Elain tilted her head towards Mor - _ go be there for her. Like you were there for me. _

  
But before Elain could slip past Mor and out of the room, the blonde female stepped into her path. “Wait,” she started, voice shaky. She clenched her hands at her sides, knuckles white, and Elain was astonished to find them trembling - as if Mor was truly scared. 

  
A long moment passed before Mor took a deep breath, supposedly steeling herself for the next words. She slowly locked eyes with Elain, communicating all of the pain and chaos behind them, a look so familiar to Elain. 

  
She saw it in the mirror far too often. 

  
“I think you need to hear this,” she said, voice trembling with her body. 

  
“Okay,” Elain said, trying to sound as neutral as possible. She understood the panicked, uneasy feelings Mor was having - and didn’t want to give her any reason to turn away. To lock her emotions up inside. Elain knew firsthand how disastrous the effects were. 

  
She slowly sat down, Feyre shifting on the bed to make room for Mor, who perched on the edge as if it were a bed of nails. 

“What happened, Mor?” Feyre asked gently, knowing how useless asking ‘Are you okay?’ would be. 

Mor simply fisted her hands in her red dress, and Feyre reached out a hand to stroke her back, rubbing soothing circles in silence. Mor would talk when she was ready, and until then, Feyre would support her without words. 

But then Mor looked up - not at Feyre, but her sister. “Elain,” Mor started, and she straightened. She had no idea how she fit into Mor’s situation, knowing that they weren’t close friends. . .but she wouldn’t turn her back on her. Not like that. 

“Yes?” Elain prompted carefully. 

“I have something to tell you.” At the words, Feyre’s hand stilled, eyes widening ever so slightly. Elain sucked in a breath, knowing whatever was coming was important. 

“I. . .” a slight pause, then, “I prefer females.” The words came out with a rush of emotion, the anticipation and fear of rejection, the relief of sharing it with someone, combined with the expectation of her reaction.

For a second, Elain simply blinked, and she went through a wave of emotions and thoughts in that split second. It hadn’t fully registered at first, but then. . .all of the pieces clicked into place. 

How sad Mor had looked talking about Azriel’s love for her - not just because she thought of  _ him  _ as a brother, but because she physically didn’t have the capacity  _ not  _ to.  _ I. . .  _ can’t  _ love him,  _ she had said before, with sorrow - but not guilt. Because she knew it wasn’t her fault, knew that she had no obligation to love him back. But that didn’t mean she didn’t want Azriel to be happy. It didn’t mean she didn’t want someone  _ else  _ for him, so he could get the reciprocated feelings he’d longed for. 

And then the happiness when she’d seen him arrive at the House of Wind carrying Elain, because it would mean her friend would  _ finally  _ get to be happy. That Mor would not be a source of his pain anymore. 

“That’s. . .that’s amazing, Mor” Elain answered, trying to convey the magnitude of her understanding and compassion with those three words. “Thank you so much for telling me. . . I know it must’ve been difficult.” 

Elain swallowed hard, hoping her words weren’t too stilted, or apathetic. She was so, so grateful that Mor had chosen to tell her - that she had opened up at all. She knew how hard it was, how simple it was to cry alone instead. How easy it was to convince yourself that you had no one to turn to. She didn’t want that for  _ anyone -  _ especially Mor. And her heart only swelled at the thought of how Mor didn’t have to go through the same loneliness as she did. Forever doubting, questioning, the love that lay around her. Elain vowed that she’d never let Mor forget it - that she had Feyre, and now  _ her,  _ too. 

“I didn’t know if I should tell you - I know we’re not close and it’s completely unprecedented but I just thought. . .” Mor was rambling now, scrambling to fill what she thought to be an awkward silence. But it wasn’t, not for Elain. For her, it was the discovery of a new bond with the blonde female, who had seemed so far away before. Elain knew she couldn’t hope to fully understand Mor and her sexuality, but she respected Mor more than  _ anyone  _ at that moment, simply for opening up about something so hard for her to talk about. 

“Mor, it’s okay,” Elain said, letting herself smile. “I’m so, so glad you told me - I can’t imagine how long you’ve kept this to yourself - even if Feyre already knew. But I. . .I’m going to be here for you. If you want to talk about it - good or bad. I know we’re not close, but you have no idea how much I  _ respect  _ you, how  _ happy  _ I am that you chose  _ me.  _ I promise, I won’t let you regret it.”

And Elain must’ve said the right words, because as soon as she’d finished, Mor threw her arms around Elain, shocking her into stillness. A moment passed before she relaxed into the embrace, letting Mor cling to her, full of relief and happy exhaustion. “Thank you,” she breathed into Elain’s ear, so grateful that Elain smiled wider into Mor’s shoulder. 

When they came apart, Elain looked over at Feyre, whose hands were clasped over her heart like she’d just seen a heartwarming display of affection (and, in some ways, maybe she had). “I’m proud of you, Mor,” Feyre told her, and Mor shot her a grin, her mood now lightened significantly. “Is this why you wanted to come see me?” Feyre asked. 

At that, Mor’s smile shrunk and she winced, looking down once more. “Actually. . .I wasn’t expecting to talk to Elain at all. But. . .maybe it was for the best.” Mor swallowed, as if bracing herself for what would come next. “Because I was at Rita’s last night with. . .this Illyrian female. And we were leaving. . . _ together.”  _

_ Oh,  _ Elain thought, realizing what Mor meant by the emphasis on the word. 

“And then,” she could see Mor’s eyes filling with new tears. “Azriel saw us.”

Elain froze. 

“Oh my god,” Feyre gasped, leaning over Mor to stare at Elain. “Elain, maybe  _ that’s  _ why. . .” she trailed off pointedly, raising her eyebrows. 

Elain’s mouth felt full of cotton. 

“Why what?” Mor asked. “Did something happen?”

Elain gritted her teeth, her mind unable to process what to  _ feel  _ about this. “Why he stood me up,” Elain supplied shortly, pursing her lips. She gestured to her own beautiful dress, her ruined makeup. “We were supposed to. . . go out tonight. But no one’s seen him all day.” 

Elain felt her hands fist in her dress. Once again, it was because of  _ Mor  _ that he’d ignored her. 

_ “Shit,”  _ Mor swore, closing her eyes. “Cauldron, Elain, I’m  _ so sorry. . . _ Fuck, I didn’t even  _ know-” _

“It’s fine,” Elain said, trying not to let any of her emotions into her voice. She gave Mor a shaky smile, to reassure her. “I know it’s not your fault.” Because it wasn’t - and Elain would  _ never  _ blame her for Azriel standing her up, ignoring Elain to spend time with her. 

But  _ Azriel.  _

She’d been so stupid - so, so  _ stupid -  _ to think that he was over Mor. That those two weeks were simply a fluke, that an apology would heal the wound - no, it had only concealed it from view. Here lay the real truth - that Elain was simply not as important. He’d disappear for an entire day, not even caring to leave a note, because of  _ Mor.  _

She gave him time. She understood that his feelings wouldn’t disappear in a day. But it was too cruel - too cold of him to make her believe otherwise. That she was worth  _ more  _ to him. That she deserved  _ more  _ as his friend than being stood up on a date  _ he’d  _ asked  _ her  _ for. 

And sitting there, between Feyre and Mor, who’d let her in instead of shut her out - unlike  _ Azriel  _  - Elain knew that she  _ was  _ worth more. Even if he couldn’t see it. 

She would not let him fool her into forgiving him this time without a  _ reason.  _ She would not let herself get hurt because he hadn’t sorted out his feelings yet. Because he wasn’t ready to love her the way she did him. 

No - she was  _ loved  _ by Feyre and by Mor and if he was not ready to give her that, she wouldn’t settle for any less. She would not settle for being ignored and stood up when she knew she was not alone. 

She took a deep breath.  _ No tears.  _

“Hey,” Feyre said softly, and Elain realized that she’d been quiet for a long time. “It’s okay to cry. We’re here for you.”

Elain straightened, mustering all of the confidence she had. “I don’t want to cry anymore,” she answered, shaking her head. 


	14. Azriel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Azriel figures shit out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was about 7 hours late with this chapter, but since I was on a network that blocked ao3, I was only able to upload this chapter on AO3 now. It’s been up for hours on Tumblr, so I’m sorry about that.

“ _You stood her up?”_ Cassian bellowed incredulously, gaping at Azriel.

Azriel was pacing helplessly across the floor of the cabin, running his hands frantically through his hair. His mind kept replaying the image of Elain, waiting for him at the balcony, first hopeful, then worried. . .before finally realizing that he _wasn’t coming._ His heart skipped a beat at the thought - _he hadn’t come._ However unintentionally it was, he wasn’t there for her when he said he’d be. He’d let her down.

“Mother’s tits, the _poor girl!_ Why would you do that?” Cassian stormed.

That he had been so obsessed with Mor, unable to even _think_ of anything else for _hours_ made him feel sick. Elain deserved more than someone who couldn’t be bothered to remember her, in exchange for the one female he was trying so hard to forget.

“I don’t _know,_ Cassian, _what am I going to do?”_ he asked, not shying away from any of the panic in his voice. He dug his nails into his scalp, pacing circles around Cassian.

She probably hated him. Wouldn’t even want to _speak_ to him so he could explain. . .and then what? She’d forgive him for standing her up because he’d been crying over another _female?_ His explanation wouldn’t make it okay. Nothing would - nothing would bring her back to him now.

Azriel didn’t realize how frenzied he was until Cassian’s arms suddenly slammed into his shoulders, stopping him in his tracks. “Az!” Cassian barked, staring him down. “Get ahold of yourself!”

Azriel nodded, clenching his fists at his sides.

“You’re an asshole,” Cassian started.

“I know,” Azriel mumbled back.

“An absolute dick.”

“I know! Cauldron, I _know,”_  he answered, voice cracking in anguish.

Cassian’s hands tightened on his shoulders at the sound. “But you _do_ care for her, don’t you?”

Azriel immediately nodded. Because he did - he did care, and it was breaking his heart that here, at this moment, he didn’t _deserve_ her. And she had absolutely no reason to forgive him. There would be no redemption here.

“Then you have to show her that.”

_“How?”_ Azriel practically whispered, fighting to keep the emotions out of his voice. “How is she going to look at me, see me after this?”

“She will, Azriel, _she will,”_ Cassian assured him when Azriel hung his head. “You’re going to show her that you’re ready to be with her.”

“But I’m not! I-I stood her up because of _Mor._ I forgot about her because of _Mor._ And even now, when I’m a fucking mess over Elain, I can’t forget about her, either.”

“Then get over Mor!”

Azriel stared up at him, eyes full of agonizing guilt. Did he not know, couldn’t see, how much Azriel _wished_ he could? How much it hurt him that he was _so close,_ close enough that he’d felt comfortable asking another female out on a date. . .only to find himself right back where he started, any progress he’d made slashed to pieces in a few short hours. Didn’t Cassian know how much he _wanted_ to be ready for Elain?

“It’s okay, Azriel,” Cassian amended, softer now. “But. . .you have to try. To get closure, whatever it is you need. You and Elain would be so perfect for each other. . .and you want that, right?”

Azriel could only nod, any words he had sticking to the back of his throat.

“Then you have to figure it out. How to get there. You just can’t give up here, assume that because you made a mistake _now_ means that you’re always going to feel this way. I _know_ that’s not true. I know because you want so badly to be enough for Elain, because you’re beating yourself up over it.”

Azriel felt his heartbeat slow up, taking in Cassian’s words. He would find a way. He would find a way to earn Elain, to be the male she deserved after everything she had been through.

Azriel took a shaky breath, willing his body to relax. He knew what he had to do.

* * *

Azriel approached the townhouse more nervous than he’d ever been at the sight of the small flat. He wiped his sweaty palms on on his pants, cringing. He felt like an awkward teenager again, confused and clueless.

Azriel took a deep breath, steeling himself as he walked through the front door. He’d spent the flight here painstakingly figuring out what to tell Elain, how to apologize for what he’d done - knowing how unforgivable his actions were.

He knew it might not work. He knew she had every right to slam the door in his face, refuse to even speak to him. But, as Cassian told him, he wouldn’t give up on her. Or himself.

As he turned the corner into the living room, he stopped in his tracks. Because instead of an empty room, he found Rhys sprawled out on the sofa, half covered by a blanket, snoring softly.

“Rhys?” her murmured, confused. When the high lord didn’t wake up, Azriel moved to the side of the couch, shaking him gently. “Rhys!”

His brother woke with a snort, blearily opening his eyes. He jerked back, staring at Azriel.

“Az?” he groaned, groggily rubbing at his eyes. “What are you doing?”

“Why are you sleeping on the couch?” he answered. “Is something wrong

“No,” he snorted, sitting up. “Last night, Elain came to Feyre looking really upset, so I gave them the room. They never came out, so I slept here. I didn’t want to bother them.”

Azriel’s heart skipped a beat. He swallowed, imagining Elain’s at Feyre’s door, face twisted in pain. But the fact that she’d gone to Feyre was a bittersweet relief, knowing that she wasn’t alone. That her sister would be there for her when. . .when _he’d_ let her down.

He bit his lip, suddenly needing to see her. To explain himself enough so that she’d at least _know._ “Are they still there?” Azriel asked Rhys, schooling his face into neutrality.

But his brother still raised an eyebrow. “I think so. . .Why?” he asked slowly.

Azriel didn’t know how much Rhys knew, but. . . “I have to go see Elain,” he said hoarsely, still uncomfortable with the amount of emotion he was betraying with those few words.

Rhys blinked, seemingly trying to put the pieces together, but still nodded. There was a question in his eyes, hoping that Azriel would open up - but he didn’t push him. Azriel silently nodded in thanks, squeezing Rhys’ shoulder before turning away. Maybe, he’d be able to tell Rhys - after he’d sorted himself out, for better or worse. But right now. . .he needed to see Elain.

* * *

 

As soon as Azriel knocked on Feyre’s door, all of his instincts were telling him to run. To hide away so he wouldn’t have to open his heart to Elain, wouldn’t have to lay bare for her all his faults and mistakes.

_She deserves the truth,_ he reminded himself once more, planting his feet on the ground. No matter how easy it would be to pretend it had never happened, to let himself fade from Elain’s mind until the incident was in the distant past. . .he cared about her too much for that. He needed to try.

He almost jumped when he heard the rustling of sheets inside, before hearing a pair of feet pad toward the door. He braced himself before the door opened, finding a sleepy Feyre in front of him, arms crossed over her robe.

She blinked before registering his presence, then raised a critical eyebrow at him. “Where have _you_ been?” she asked flatly, face blank.

Her emotionless reaction, so guarded and aloof, was enough to make him wince. He deserved it, he knew, but it didn’t protect him from the sting it left in his chest. “I suppose Elain told you everything?” he asked, looking down. He couldn’t look into her eyes, couldn’t see his own failure in them.

“So did Mor,” Feyre said, and Azriel’s heart stopped cold.

His head shot up. “Mor?” he asked, not wanting to believe that she _knew_ what he had seen. . .

“She knows what you saw. So does Elain.”

Azriel  felt faint, any and all confidence he had in coming here draining. Elain had probably already drawn her own conclusions, made her own decisions about him. . .and _Mor._ He had no idea what she could possibly be thinking, how she would’ve reacted to knowing he’d stood Elain up because of _her._

He swallowed hard, unable to form words.

“You need to talk to them,” Feyre said simply, even as her voice softened slightly. “You can’t just disappear into the shadows this time.”

“I know,” Azriel managed hoarsely.

Feyre sighed, and tentatively reached out a hand. She brought it to his arm, grasping it lightly. Azriel shook slightly at the touch, but knew that he hadn’t completely lost her too, if she had enough hope left in Azriel to even give him advice. “They’re sleeping right now, but when they wake up. . .” _you need to be ready,_ was what she didn’t need to add.

“How’s Elain?” he asked, almost not wanting to know. But if there was no room left in her heart for him, if she’d completely resigned herself against whatever explanation there was . .he had to know.

Feyre shook her head. “If you’re wondering whether she’ll be willing to talk to you, the answer is yes. . .but she’s not going to roll over and take your shit this time. _You_ have to find a way to convince her.”

It should’ve discouraged him, should’ve scared him away - and he knew that it _would’ve_ a week ago. The thought that he had so much to lose, and everything to gain from talking to her. But now, he cared too much, needed Elain too much to feel any fear. And he would make sure she knew that.


	15. Elain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elain is amazing.
> 
> That's it. That's the summary.

_ “Elain!”  _ a voice hissed, jolting her out of sleep.  _ “Wake up!”  _ they continued, shaking her. Elain mumbled incoherently in answer, cracking open an eye to find Feyre leaning over her. 

At the sight, everything came flooding back - Azriel standing her up. . .going to her sister’s room. . .and then  _ Mor.  _ Cauldron, they’d stayed up so late, just talking together. After Elain decided she didn’t want to talk about Azriel, they’d distracted her with their own life stories - Mor especially. It wasn’t long before she found herself laughing with them, feeling more like a family than she had in such a long time. It was like the laughter she’d heard for so many nights, coming from this very room - between Rhys and Feyre, even Mor sometimes. The easy happiness that came from belonging, from being a  _ part  _ of something together. For so long, Elain had been a bitter observer, until now - when all it had taken was a knock and a hello for her to feel it herself. 

Not that she’d forgotten the heartbreak that had brought her to Feyre’s door, the similar pain that had brought Mor to them. There was no ignoring the ache in her chest after realizing what had really happened yesterday, the hurt that one night - even one that had brought her such happiness - couldn’t mend. But, staring into Feyre’s face, looking at  _ her  _ so lovingly and tenderly, she couldn’t help but smile. 

Feyre’s mouth quirked up, as if relieved to see Elain’s expression. “How’d you sleep?” she asked tentatively, trying to gauge her mood. 

“Wonderful,” she said hoarsely, sitting up across from Feyre. Elain brought her hand across to Feyre’s shoulder, reassuring her. “I loved last night. With you and Mor.”

“I knew you’d like Mor, if you had more time together.”

“I’m glad she came here. I’m glad  _ I  _ came here.”

Feyre’s smile widened at that. “Me too.”

“It was a good. . .distraction. I don’t know what I would’ve done alone, without you two.” And Elain didn’t want to know. In another timeline, she’d wake up to tear stained cheeks, feeling that familiar heaviness of depression, dragging her down until all she could think of was her  _ own  _ faults, reasons why Azriel had stood her up. Here. . .she had people to steer her into the light, where she could have  _ some _ semblance of the self-esteem that had deserted her, ever since being Made. 

Feyre looked down at Elain’s words, mood changing ever so slightly. “Elain. . .there’s a reason I woke you up. I would’ve let you sleep in but. . .Azriel’s back.”

And then there was a part of Elain that became the other girl, the one whose worth was tied solely to the one male she’d pinned all of her hopes and dreams for life here on. The girl who wanted nothing more than to let him scoop her up and pretend like it never happened, but. . .she’d done that once before. She would not let herself open her heart again to forgiveness, unless she could be sure he wouldn’t ignore it. Take it for granted.

Elain sucked in a breath, not knowing how to feel. Why was he back? To apologize? To make some half-hearted excuse? Or. . .what if he wasn’t back for her, simply going about his business, trying to pretend that she didn’t exist anymore. Elain’s heart squeezed, imagining all of the worst possibilities, reasons that only brought her farther and farther away from Feyre, curling into the loneliness in her heart. Just because she had the strength to keep it at bay for one night didn’t mean it was gone. Didn’t mean she wouldn’t give in in the morning, when the cold light of day illuminated her own, pathetic reality for her. One where neither Feyre or Mor could ease the heartbreak forever, that she’d been lended a crutch, only to have it sweeped out from under her hours later. 

But then there was Feyre, hands on Elain’s shoulders, pressing their foreheads closer together. “Hey,” she said, as if she knew the pit that Elain was falling back into, understood that she needed an anchor to keep her on solid ground.

“I’m here,” she whispered, and the words washed over Elain like a cool stream against the fiery chaos of her mind.

“I’m not leaving,” she said, and Elain reached for her voice, her soothing words, instead of the “what ifs” and insults roaring at her in her mind. 

“And no matter what happens with Azriel,  _ you are not going to be alone.”  _ And then Elain pulled herself back up, surfacing in her sister’s eyes, intense and pleading. As if Feyre would not rest until she understood.  

Elain nodded, the calm that she’d woken up with seeping back in. She was okay. She had Feyre, and Mor, and Azriel was here. It didn’t mean anything. “Okay,” she said, letting herself feel it. “Okay.”

Feyre visibly relaxed, a small smile gracing her lips. “Good. That’s good. If you don’t want to see him, you don’t have to. It’s your choice - it’ll  _ always  _ be your choice.”

Her sister had no idea how much relief those words gave Elain, who knew that it was much easier to feel happy when it was just them, when she didn’t have to  _ think  _ about Azriel and her feelings about him.

But that didn’t mean Elain wanted to  _ ignore  _ him - if he truly wanted to see her, she wouldn’t do the same thing he’d done to her. It had broken her enough that Elain knew she could never do that to  _ anyone.  _

That didn’t mean she had to forgive him. It didn’t mean she owed him anything - but he would get his say. And that was all she felt obligated to give him. 

“Does Azriel  _ want  _ to see me?” she asked, gradually feeling more confident in her plan. 

“He does,” Feyre answered. “I’m sure of that, at least.”

Elain nodded, resolve setting in. “Then I will see him. And decide how I feel for myself.”

* * *

 

Half an hour later, Elain was walking down the stairs of the townhouse, prepared to find Azriel somewhere below. She lifted her chin up, reminding herself of Feyre and Mor and everything she had felt in the last twenty-four hours. There was the heartache and the anger - but there was the love and reassurance too. The only reason she was standing on the last stair then, bracing herself for what lay in the next room. 

So Elain took a deep breath, and turned the corner. 

And there he was. Back turned to her, slouched over a plate on the dining table. His shadows swirled around him, blacker and thicker than usual. She couldn’t see his expression from here, but there was a darkness surrounding him, an aura only a shadowsinger could have. It sent tingles down her spine, letting Elain know that no matter what he could possibly be thinking about her. . .he wasn’t in a good place, either. 

Elain sucked in a breath, and that was all it took for the spymaster to turn around. “Elain,” he said, and almost immediately, he was standing up, striding towards her. She almost didn’t want to look into his eyes, swirling with shadows like she’d never seen before. Anguish and pain surged in his voice, sending another crack through her heart. She could gain no satisfaction from seeing him so vanquished, so subdued - but she also knew it was not her fault. That he’d brought it in on himself, a thought that kept her upright, unyielding. 

_ “I am so, so sorry,”  _ he said, not wasting any time. Where she usually saw him as a male of quiet and patience, here he was all desperation and half-formed thoughts, spewing all of his emotions along with his words without a care in the world. “I’m an asshole. I’m such an asshole a-and I know that what I did was so fucking wrong, and I’m just so sorry, Elain. I don’t have any excuse.”

When the words were out, he looked emotionally spent, eyes hollowed out, empty. It didn’t make  _ him  _ better, but for Elain. . .there was a relief in knowing that he saw his own mistakes. Understood why he was here, what he’d done to her. 

“You’re right,” Elain said, surprised to find her voice even and clear. It gave her confidence, and she forged ahead. “Last night, I probably would’ve cried myself to sleep, woken up and cried again - had it not been for Feyre. For so long, I’d felt like you were the only real connection I had, the only person who could make me feel at least a little less alone. And when you’d ignored me for those few weeks. . .it had been such a blow to  _ me  _ that I didn’t care what you said - only that I got you back.”

Azriel visibly winced in memory.

“But that’s not  _ enough  _ for me anymore. I  _ know  _ that I am not alone, that I have my sister. I have Mor. I don’t  _ need  _ you to be there for me.” Elain paused. “But I want you to. I want it so much, Azriel.” The emotions seeped into her words then, the longing and hoping making it harder to get the words out. Azriel seemed equally as choked up, unable to maintain a neutral expression. A shadowsinger, trained to withstand any sort of torture with a straight face, crumbling now in front of her. 

Elain took a deep breath, regaining her composure. “But you need to show me that you can do it. I know what you saw - Mor explained everything to me and Feyre last night. I will never hold this against her, because she was there for me, too. But you. . .I need you to be okay. I can’t open my heart to yours, not if it’s taken by someone else.”

“Elain,” Azriel breathed, hanging his head. He seemed to pause for a second, as if to object. . .but then only loosed a sigh, shoulders slumping forward. 

“That’s what I thought,” Elain answered. And even though she knew it was true, knew that he did not have space in his heart for her, it didn’t make it hurt any less. She wanted to leave right then and there, give herself the space to get over it. She just needed time. But right now. . .she could only feel pain, staring into his beautiful, shattered face. So she turned away from it, making to leave. She had said her piece. And he’d revealed his. 

Azriel shook his head frantically, raising a hand to stop her. “No, that’s not what I meant.” 

Elain waited. 

“I have never fought for another female, my entire life. Not because I didn’t want to, or didn’t need to, but because. . .I was afraid. Afraid of my own heart. Of breaking it. But I realized that this. . .this is  _ so much worse.  _ Watching you walk away, while I didn’t say a fucking word is the worst I’ve ever felt in my entire life. I  _ want  _ to be with you, Elain. I want it so goddamn much, you don’t understand. Whatever I have felt for Mor, it has never been enough for me to say even a  _ fraction  _ of what I’m telling you.” He let out a short, humourless laugh. “I have never been so desperate. And I’m so terrified o-of  _ this.  _ Of telling you how much it hurt me to see you walk away. But I’m even more terrified that if I don’t say a word, you’re going to walk away for good. And I’ll never see you again.”

Elain didn’t think she was breathing anymore. 

“You are  _ so good,  _ Elain. You deserve so much. You deserve better than me - w-who can’t even keep a fucking date. Who’s been in love with the same woman for 500 years, but is still unable to stay away. But I  _ want  _ to be better than that. I want to be able to tell you that my heart is yours, that it’ll always be open for you.  _ Cauldron,  _ Elain there’s nothing I’ve ever wanted more.”

And then there was silence, his words a heavy weight between them. It was a stuttering, anxious, frenzied speech that tore at her heart strings. Elain knew that she couldn’t walk away now, that he’d given her that sacrifice she’d been waiting for. The one he had withheld from her, for so long. 

So she took a step towards him. Then another. And another. He was close now, shadows reaching out to graze her arms. “So become that male,” she whispered softly, so only he could hear, a secret that left everything up to him. His last chance to give meaning to every moment they’d shared together, every exchange and glance, and now his words here. “And then come find me.”


	16. Azriel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mor and Azriel talk.

For once in the last two days, Azriel was not miserable. He knew that he very easily could’ve been, reduced to a desperate mess in his room after his conversation with Elain -  _ if  _ he had let her walk away. 

_ But he didn’t.  _

And it was a thought that brought him strength, that for once in his Cauldron-damned life he had  _ not  _ let happiness slip through his fingers. That he had opened his heart just enough that there could be no confusion, no mistake, that he cared. He hadn’t known that that was all it would take, hadn’t known that a few short words would save him from the lonely despair he had gotten so used to over the years. But it had, and now it was all he could think about. 

_ Become that male,  _ she had said.  _ And then come find me.  _ A part of his heart had swelled at the confidence in her words, her body, when she confronted him. This Elain was so different from the fragile, glassy-eyed seer he had first met. This Elain was stronger, and  _ healed,  _ and even if she had only gotten to that point because of Azriel’s mistakes. . .he was proud of her. He was, and all he could do now was try to be worthy of the beautiful, brave female Elain had become. 

He hadn’t waited even an hour after she’d given him her verdict. Azriel knew that he needed closure, like Cassian had said. He needed to end the chapter of his life spent on Mor, cast away that piece of his heart. . .so he could give it to someone else. To Elain. 

It hadn’t taken long before he’d found Mor, perched on a stone bench outside, hands in the pockets of her crimson winter cloak. She was staring stoically into space, completely motionless. It was a rare sight for the female, who danced the night away in fiery red dresses, unable to sit still for even a few minutes before the dance floor pulled her back in. Anyone who knew Mor at all could tell that now, she wasn’t okay. 

Azriel wondered, for a brief moment, if she was thinking about him. But he knew that it didn’t matter, because he was here for himself. Azriel took a deep breath, then stomped over to the bench and sat beside her. 

Mor was silent for a long moment. Then she’d swallowed hard, revealing the true discomfort underneath the impassive mask, and said, “We need to talk.”

Azriel agreed. He cleared his throat before answering, “Yes. We do.” 

Mor nodded. “Let’s meet at five. At that cafe on the Sidra.”

And that was that. 

Now, Azriel was sitting inside the small restaurant a few minutes before their meeting, waiting for her.  There was, of course, the apprehension at knowing that he would not be able to hide during this conversation. He  _ would  _ have to show her his heart, but then again. . .so would Mor. 

There would be no pretending anymore after this meeting. 

And then the bell at the door rang, and there she was. He didn’t know what he’d expected from her, but her easygoing expression and unruffled demeanor made Azriel falter. Here he was, a mess of nerves and self-affirmations that only sort of seemed to be calming him, while she could care less about what was about to happen. 

But there was no mistaking the flash in her eyes as Mor sat down in front of him. He was not the only one with an affinity for masks, and he knew that while Mor  _ seemed  _ like the most open hearted female, there was more under the surface than anyone could ever imagine. He could see the bags under her eyes, sense the nervousness and discomfort with his shadows. 

“Hey,” Mor said, a smile growing on her face. But it was generic, completely emotionless. He was not here for a mutual puppet show, a faux confrontation that resolved nothing. 

_ No more pretending.  _

So Azriel took a breath, and started to speak. “You know what I saw, don’t you?” he asked first, measuring his words carefully. 

Mor nodded. Still refusing to say a word.  _ How the roles have reversed,  _ Azriel thought. 

“I. . .I love you Mor. So much. You are one of my best friends, and I think. . . that you know how I feel about you. How I  _ felt,  _ for so long.” His mind felt completely blank, as if his confession had cleansed it, leaving him empty. 

There was a part of him that was panicking, screaming that  _ this was not right.  _ He fought the recoil, the disgust at his own words - so raw, and real. The truth of his pain that had weighed him down for more than 500 years. 

“But then I met Elain.”

Mor’s eyes flashed, and there was now a hopefulness that this didn’t have to be the conversation where she broke her best friend’s heart. That maybe, they could both leave the cafe unscarred, and she wouldn’t have to put on a happy show for him. 

Azriel didn’t need to be a daemati to know what she was thinking. He wanted Mor to know that this was not his love letter to her. . .it was a plea for release. A request for her to let his heart go, once and for all. The honesty he needed to finally be free.

“And I didn’t want to pine after - after  _ you  _ anymore. I wanted to love her - without hurting her. Because I could not love you and want to be with her at the same time. I still can’t. But I choose  _ Elain.  _ I choose trying for happiness with her, instead of the pain that came with loving you.”

Mor visibly winced, and before he could continue, she opened her mouth. “I never meant to hurt you,” she blurted out in a rush of air, stripping off the mask with that confession. She was shaking her head, face scrunched into misery. “I love you, too. I love you. . .but not like that.”

She paused. Azriel waited. 

Mor seemed to choke on the words. “Because I  _ can’t  _ love you that way. I want you to be happy. I wish to the Cauldron I could give you that happiness. I thought that if I could just push you and Elain together without telling you  _ any  _ of this. . .We’d both be happy, and no one would have to get hurt.”

“But we did,” Azriel cut in, and knew his heart was close to breaking. “We  _ did  _ get hurt.”

Tears welled in Mor’s eyes as she cut a glance to him and his shadows, swirling with pain and regret around him. “I know,” she whispered, softly offering him every shred of guilt in her heart, that she had not done the right thing. That she had brought him farther away from happiness, instead of closer. “And it’s my fault.”

Mor took a deep breath and dabbed at her eyes. “I should’ve told you. You shouldn’t have found out that way. I just. . .I was so, so scared. Because all I’ve ever wanted was for you to be happy and thought that you not knowing was better than the alternative.”

Azriel could understand - but that didn’t mean it hurt any less. “Mor, how could I possibly move on  _ without  _ knowing?” he asked incredulously, because this revelation was the  _ only thing  _ that had stopped him. The reason he was here, trying to clean up his mess, so he could return to Elain a better male than he’d been when he’d found out. 

“I know, and I’m  _ so sorry -  _ not because of what you saw, but because I didn’t tell you. I can’t apologize for who I am.” She looked square in the eye, a determination he knew she had mustered up long before coming here. 

Azriel nodded quickly. “Of  _ course _ not,” he assured her. He would never expect her to, never push her to feel anything but love for herself and who she was. 

She seemed to relax at his words, a new confidence building in her body. Mor took a breath. “I don’t want to pretend, or avoid it anymore,” she said. “I prefer females. You. . .you should know that.”

Azriel didn’t know what to do with his body, his face. There was no denying the squeeze in his chest at the words, the words that closed every door for him and Mor in Azriel’s mind. But at the same time. . .there was a weight that had lifted off of his chest. A chapter had been closed, a verdict reached, and now he could move on. There was no hesitation in his heart, no confusion, with where he was with Mor anymore. They were friends - and that would be enough. 

“Thank you for telling me,” he said now, trying for a small smile to let her know that whatever she was thinking, it was okay. He was okay. 

Mor huffed a nervous laugh. “In my mind, you would never react so calmly,” she said shakily.

“I react this way to everything,” he answered, raising an eyebrow. “Of course, I did have a warning beforehand.”

Mor cringed. “I’m so sorry you had to see that first. But. . .I’m glad I was finally able to tell you. I should’ve done it a long time ago.”

Azriel shook his head, feeling freer than he had in so long. There was no doubt in his mind that he would leave this table in peace. It was an emotional stillness he was so unused to, compared to the turbulence that had been his heart in these past few weeks - torn between unknown happiness, and familiar despair. 

“You did it now - and that’s all that matters,” he answered, watching Mor’s eyes shutter with relief - so similar to his own state. Because Azriel had finally learned to let go, and it opened up a whole new world of love and happiness for him to experience. 


	17. Elain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elain and Azriel are cute together. Finally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORRY IT'S BEEN A MONTH I'VE BEEN BUSY. DON'T KILL ME. WE'RE BACK TO A WEEKLY SCHEDULE NOW I PROMISE.

It had only been three days before he came to her.

Elain had been pruning her orchids in the greenhouse, trying to focus on the snaps of dead stems breaking, plucking weeds and rotten flowers out of the soil. After her. . .confrontation with Azriel a few days ago (she still had no idea what to call it), she’d stood in the hallway feeling more lost than she ever had in the last few weeks.  _ Now what,  _ Elain had thought, still shaking from all that she’d said to him, still reeling from all that he’d said to  _ her.  _

She wasn’t going to cry - she knew that much. Not because she didn’t care, but because Elain couldn’t do that to herself. She  _ had  _ to be ready to let go if the next day, she saw Azriel with another female, if he never spoke to her again. 

The thought had sent a shudder through her spine, and still did, as she recalled it in the greenhouse. . .but she was strong. Elain knew that she didn’t need anyone to hold her up - not Azriel, not Mor. Not even Feyre. 

But the difference was that Mor and Feyre did it  _ anyway.  _ They had talked her through the night when she’d felt worthless to Azriel, to everyone. They’d sat by Elain’s bedside while she was on her cycle - and then forgave her for every awful thing she’d said.

And Elain hoped that Azriel would still want her, even if she wouldn’t run after him. Just like her sister had. And if he wouldn’t. . .

_ I will be okay,  _ she’d told herself, over and over these past few days. She didn’t need Azriel, and she only wanted him if he was ready for it.

Now it was her mantra, as she clipped stems in her garden, trying not to think about him. 

_ I will be okay.  _

And then, as if she had summoned him with her (albeit repressed) thoughts alone, he was at the greenhouse door. Elain knew he’d purposely stomped in the snow outside to alert her of his presence, but he stood timidly and awkwardly enough that she would’ve guessed it anyway. Shadows swirled around him restlessly, betraying the nervousness that his carefully crafted expressionless face hid. 

For a moment, Elain simply froze, staring at Azriel wide-eyed. She hadn’t expected herself to be so dumbstruck when he’d eventually came to see her (if he even did at all), but it was as if she hadn’t really believed he cared enough. To stand outside and hope she would let him back in, to make the first move. Elain realized, staring into his shadowed eyes, that she’d been preparing herself only for the outcome where he was lost to her forever - but here was proof that maybe, just maybe, he was not. 

And that threw her back into the present. She shot up, gesturing for him to come in. Elain could barely remember her mantra now, knuckles white around her clippers. She smoothed down her gardening apron and stood up as Azriel brought a scarred hand to the door and let himself in. 

For a moment, neither of them spoke, simply breathing in the tension and hope and anxiety that suddenly filled the room. 

And then Azriel cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “The orchids are beautiful,” he said hoarsely, as if he was trying to put her at ease. Elain knew Azriel had never been one for making small talk, preferring silence to meaningless conversation, but now. . .he was reaching for comfort, she realized. The relaxed, easy talking that they had lost in these past few weeks, when everything was either crying or anger or helplessness. 

“Yes, they’re growing well,” Elain answered tentatively, not knowing where he was going with this. Was he trying to ease into letting her down, telling her that her needs were too much for him to fulfill? Or was he about to give her what she’d wanted for so long, and open his heart to her the way she had from the beginning? The “what-ifs” churned in her mind, turning her into a shaking mess in front of him. 

Azriel suddenly looked away, as if regretting his words. His shadows swirled even more violently now, reflecting every bit of inner turmoil he was experiencing. He took a deep breath, seemingly bracing himself, before saying “I talked to Mor.”

There was no mistaking it now - he had taken Elain’s words to heart, in one way or another. At least he was here, and that meant he cared enough about her feelings to give her some sort of closure. 

Elain nodded, gently encouraged him. “And?” she asked, the word barely a whisper. 

Azriel was silent again. It had started so well, but here began the battle Elain had seen so many times in Azriel’s face - his mind warring between the shadows, and the light that lay beyond. The possibility that he would be burned in that warmth was one that Elain knew still haunted him, but. . .for once, she was the one who feared what lay behind those beautiful dark eyes. Not because of  _ him,  _ specifically, but what he could do to her. 

Azriel shut his eyes, clenching and unclenching his hands at his sides. “And. . .” he began, the word a sigh. “I let go.”

His eyes fluttered back open, as if now ready to face her reaction to his words. Elain expected to see sadness, a defeated resignation in his face - because how had she felt, for months after Graysen had rejected her? Elain had become nothing but a hollow vessel of disgust for herself, and even after accepting it, could not think of her own Fae body without feeling bitter. 

“I had avoided it for too long. It wasn’t just this conversation with her that made me realize it. It was months. . .with  _ you.”  _ Azriel continued, more boldly now. 

Elain didn’t move a muscle. 

“In the garden, and the forest, and that -  _ night  _ that I spent with you. . .I had slowly been letting go, all this time. And then - it just snapped into place. I had loved Mor for so long that I didn’t even know what it would be like to  _ not  _ love her. And I’m an asshole for fighting my feelings for you only because they scared me - because I  _ don’t  _ want to be with Mor. Not anymore. I want to be with   _ you,  _ and only you.” 

And then Elain’s heart broke, right in front of him. This was the Azriel she had fallen for, the male she wanted to be with. Who stood in front of her and poured his heart out without a care in the world, because no matter how hard it was for him, he’d do it for  _ her.  _ The male who offered himself now, hoping she would accept him after everything he had done to be with her. 

Graysen had never tried so hard.  _ She  _ had been the one to grovel at  _ his  _ feet, a mess of a lovestruck child unable to see her own worth. She had assumed Azriel hadn’t been able to see it either, and would only want her if he didn’t have to change anything about himself. But here he was, trying for  _ her.  _ Opening himself up for  _ her.  _

Elain’s face broke out into a watery smile, completely and utterly swayed by his words. 

At the sight of her face, Azriel seemed to soften as well, letting out a breath of relief.

Elain gulped, trying to find her voice to express to him how much she cared. How simply and wholly happy she felt because of  _ him.  _

“I. . .want to be with you, too,” Elain said, and that was all it took. 

Any shred of apprehension, or anxiety in Azriel immediately left him. She could see the tension leave his body, shoulders slumping forward in gratitude. His shadows calmed in the face of her words, as if soothed by the truth behind him. 

But the most surprising part of it all was the smile that broke out on Azriel’s face - wide and unabashed, teeth and all. A smile that showed Elain every bit of gratitude and love in his heart. 

Elain never wanted him to stop smiling.

* * *

 

They had agreed on seven again, Azriel promising her, over and over again, that he wouldn’t be a second late. 

Elain believed him. 

She hadn’t known what to do with herself after they’d both admitted their feelings to each other. Was she supposed to. . .kiss him? Gods, she  _ wanted  _ to. Or was that too much? 

But then he’d cleared his throat, and asked her, once again, if he could take her out. It was the most embarrassed she’d ever seen him, shadows billowing in a chaotic mess around him, cheeks almost  _ red.  _

Elain had said yes immediately, if only because of how bashful he’d looked saying it. She had never seen him this  _ vulnerable  _ in front of anyone else, and that alone had been enough to sway her. 

Now, quarter to seven, Elain stood again in the mirror, just as she had done that night. She was in a beautiful cobalt gown that she’d seen in a store window on the Sidra. As soon as it caught her eyes, all she could see was Azriel’s siphons, the exact same shade of brilliant blue. It was a beautiful dress, of course - it hugged her bodice in all the right places, with a simple, sweeping silk skirt that whispered across the floor when she walked. But she had bought it thinking only of  _ him.  _

And this date would be the perfect time to wear it. 

Elain took a deep breath, smoothing the gown. Tonight, she would not cry. Tonight, Azriel would be waiting for her on the balcony as soon as she opened the door. He had done everything that she’d asked, proved to her he could be the male she wanted. So now, Elain was willing to trust him with her heart.

* * *

 

The moment she padded onto the balcony, Azriel immediately whirled around. Elain had barely any room to admire the shadowsinger without him picking up on it and every thought running through her mind. 

She wanted this - so, so badly. Even if it didn’t erase everything that happened, she wanted it to be better now. 

“Elain,” he started, soft and gentle, a tone he reserved only for her. “You look beautiful.”

She could say the same for him. Azriel’s dress shirt and slacks, so at odds with his delightfully tousled hair made her heart dance in her chest. Elain swallowed, regaining her composure. “Thank you,” she said, smiling a little. “You do too.”

Color bloomed on his cheeks, betraying the happiness in his eyes and form. 

Elain took a step closer, until his shadows brushed up against the tresses of her gown. She wondered if he’d done it on purpose, or if they simply had a mind of their own. “Where are you taking me tonight?” she asked, leaning in as close as she dared. 

At that, Azriel’s eyes lit up. “It’s a surprise,” he said mischievously. “But. . .we’ll get there faster if I fly you there.”

A blatant lie, but the hint of a smirk on his lips told Elain that it was only a half-assed excuse as to not reveal his so-called “surprise.” Elain’s mouth curved into a smile, endeared by his childish game. Fine, she could play along. “Of course we will,” she answered in mock sincerity. 

Azriel held out one hand, scars and all, and Elain graciously took it, allowing him to gently lead her into his arms. Azriel’s wings flared in front of her, enveloping Elain into the dark warmth of his body. 

This time, she was not afraid. In fact, Elain’s body curved into his, fitting like a puzzle piece into his arms. It felt. . .safe. So much so that Elain curved her arms into a relaxed hold on his shoulders and pressed her face into Azriel’s dress shirt, breathing in the silky scent of him. 

Elain’s heart fluttered when she felt him lean down wordlessly, and press a kiss to her hair. She tightened her grip around Azriel at the feeling, closing her eyes against his chest. 

“Are you ready?” he said against her head, his voice a rumble that Elain felt all around her. 

“Mhm,” Elain murmured. 

And then, Azriel’s wings started beating in front of her, sweeping the floor from out under her feet. 

She let out a sharp intake of breath at the disconcerting feeling, one that didn’t go unnoticed to Azriel. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you,” he whispered reassuringly into her ear, his breath tickling Elain’s neck. 

She nodded silently, her throat suddenly dry. Here she was, flying a thousand feet above the ground, something she would never have imagined a year ago - and all she was thinking about was Azriel. 

But maybe. . .that wasn’t such a bad thing.

* * *

 

Elain didn’t know where they were. They’d flown past a gated enclosure of forest and pathways, one that had said “CLOSED” in huge, unmistakable letters. And when Elain had questioned him about it, Azriel had given her a crooked grin and said, “Being the High Lord’s spymaster has its privileges.” 

She was still getting used to this side of the shadowsinger - so open and genuinely happy to be with her. It had been a rare thing to see such a casual smile on his face before, but when they were alone. . .Elain thought that maybe, just maybe, it meant she was special to him, in one way or another. And that was enough to quiet any of her questions, and simply nestle herself into his welcoming embrace. 

Soon enough, Azriel was swooping lower and lower to the ground. The clouds around them cleared, revealing a glass structure much like Elain’s own greenhouse, although the frost obscured the inside from her view. 

Azriel set her down with a lingering touch on the pathway outside the enclosure, as if he too were reluctant to leave her. Goosebumps pricked her arms in the cold, but that was only half the reason she wished to stay enveloped in his warm embrace. 

“What is this?” Elain asked, hoping it was at least warm inside. 

But Azriel was in no mood to reveal his secrets, even now. “Why don’t you go in and see?” 

Elain couldn’t help but smile as she walked up to the door, seeing pale blobs of green and white beyond the frosted-over windows. Azriel came up behind her, shadows caressing her neck, as Elain opened the door. 

Flowers.

Bouquets  and pots and planters and vases were crammed into every corner of what she knew now was a small  _ greenhouse _ , feeling the lovely humidity on her skin. In the middle lay a table and two chairs, a candle. Two covered dinner plates. 

But Elain barely registered it, in the face of the greenery and nature around her. Every container was bursting with beautiful white, iridescent flowers, actually  _ glowing  _ in the legendary night sky, in full bloom: moonflowers. 

They were beautiful, and were found in every park or forest of Velaris. She hadn't seen them much in the human lands, no one really caring to harvest their seeds so she might plant them in her own garden. It had been a world of worn and dirty faces, too tired to see light in anything, especially flowers.

Elain had not known what it meant, that she had loved the earth and the beauty of nature for so long, when everyone around her was too broken to see it. But then, after she’d come to Prythian, she realized that she had always been different - always kinder and more willing to see the beauty in life. So she cultivated that, tried her best to go back to that beautifully happy girl, content with her garden and her sister. The townhouse garden here had become her reprieve, so that she might close her eyes for only a moment and be at home once more.

But they didn’t have moonflowers at home. 

Here, people were happy. Here, people smiled and laughed and grew beautiful flowers because they  _ could.  _ A flower of light to shine in the lovely darkness. Elain thought that maybe she would not have to squeeze her eyes shut and imagine to feel at home anymore, that maybe the human lands were not all that she thought they were. Maybe she could be happy here, growing and tending to flowers that people would appreciate. Maybe, all she had to do was look around her to feel at home.

Elain took a shaky breath. She had been silent for so long. 

“You did all of this?” she asked quietly, staring into Azriel’s face, waiting for her reaction.

“All of it,” he confirmed. “Do you like it?” 

Elain’s heart was melting. Azriel had bought dozens upon dozens of flowers, brought all of them here to this small house - for her. Brought  _ food  _ here for the two of them, a romantic side she didn’t know he had. 

Her silence must’ve worried him, because he continued. “Velaris has a botanical garden, and I wanted to take you here anyway. But it’s the dead of winter, and I couldn’t take you through the whole park - so I brought a small piece of it to you.”

Elain stared into his eyes, suddenly so overwhelmed by what Azriel had done. They had hurt each other, had gone through so much within themselves to get to this point. Where they could look each other in the eyes, no emotional guard between them. Just every bit of unvetted feeling, taking and giving the same amount.

Elain had wanted to wait. Until she was sure she could, until he dropped her home at least. But here, amid his work, the sanctuary he’d made just for her, so Elain might be able to find some peace and contentment here in Velaris, she couldn’t help herself. 

Before tonight, she had not been entirely sure she could live here happily. But now. . .Azriel had tried so hard. Had opened his heart, given her  _ this.  _

So Elain took a step forward, until his shadows swirled around her arms and face, as if Azriel was pulling her in. It certainly felt like it on her end. 

She hadn’t even answered his question, but what she was about to do would express every bit of appreciation she felt in that moment, simply happy to be there, with him. 

Azriel was still, eyes churning with emotion, as Elain took her hand and placed it gently on his cheek. He didn’t move, only staring into her eyes with a piercing gaze. Elain leaned up, almost on her toes, so she could reach his face. And then she slowly, brought her lips to his. 


	18. Azriel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elain and Azriel's first date.

Elain was kissing him. 

_ Elain  _ was kissing  _ him.  _

It took Azriel a split second, to believe it, that she was here, and her lips were on his, before he kissed back. Elain’s lips were soft and warm, her body like a beacon of heat in the cold, wintry night. He leaned in to place his hands gently on her hips, as if trying not to scare her away. In response, Elain’s back arched into his chest and she slid her hands around his shoulders, the feel of her body flush against his sending tingles down Azriel’s spine. 

He slid his tongue along her lips, and she opened for him, head tipping back. Azriel felt Elain’s pleased sigh as they moved together, her eyes drifting closed at the feeling. It only spurred him on, unable to think of anyone and anything else but Elain and him, standing here, like they had all the time in the world. 

Soon enough, they came up reluctantly for air, but Azriel didn’t pull away, couldn’t. Neither did Elain. They simply stared at each other, starry-eyed and over the moon, letting their breaths mingle together. 

“Does that mean you liked the greenhouse?” Azriel asked, a grin forming on his face. He didn’t know how many times he’d smiled already this night, but when he was with Elain, it was all he wanted to do. She made him want to show every bit of happiness in his heart, every time she was there. 

Elain laughed, sloping her hands over his shoulders. “I loved it,” she answered, leaning in again. Azriel was unable to resist, still smiling against Elain’s mouth as she kissed him once more. 

He felt like he could spent the rest of his doing just that.

* * *

 

Azriel hadn’t realized, when he’d bought the moonflowers, how bright they’d be. He felt like he and Elain were in the middle of a pulsing lantern as they ate, surrounded by the sweet-smelling blooms.

He’d had Nuala and Cerridwen make Elain’s favorite foods, but he’d been the one to bring the tables and chairs here. When Azriel had been winnowing everything in, all he’d hoped was that she didn’t think him pathetic, or pitiful, because of how much he cared. There was always that small part in the back of his brain that told him not to let it show - how Elain pulled at his heartstrings until he felt like he was choking. And when she’d kissed him. . .he knew he’d lie awake tonight thinking about it. He’d never been so broken for anyone else. 

Azriel could’ve seen it as a weakness, something to hide from her. That way, maybe it would hurt less when she inevitably left him - like he’d thought everyone was going to. 

But with Elain, it was different. She had taken him back, every scarred and twisted part of him - none of it had scared her away. She was here, sitting in front of him, and no one else. 

And that made Azriel want Elain to see all of it - the broken bits, yes, but the  _ happiness,  _ too. The smiles he would’ve hidden in front of anyone else, the love he wouldn’t have expressed to anyone else. 

“How did you know?” Elain suddenly asked, gesturing around her. 

“What?” he asked.

“How did you know what flowers to get, what food to bring. . .everything?”

Azriel’s heart soared. He’d only hoped that, from months of being around her, learning Elain’s likes and dislikes, that he’d hit the mark with this date. 

“Because I know  _ you,  _ Elain,” he answered. 

Elain only blushed, looking downwards. “You do,” she said. “Everyone thinks they know me, when I’m smiling and laughing. But you know me sad, and angry, and broken. . .and you’re still here.”

Azriel couldn’t resist reaching his hand across the table to grasp Elain’s. “Of course I am. Nothing you could ever do would make me leave. I  _ want  _ to see every part of you, the good and the bad.”

Elain smiled, thumb caressing the back of Azriel’s hand. Had it been anyone else, his heart would’ve started racing, unable to handle the thought of someone touching his scars, the one part of his ugly past that he could not hide. But with Elain, he didn’t want to hide anything. 

“With you, there’s more good than bad. I had been telling myself that even if I never saw you again, I’d be okay. I would make it work. And I probably would’ve, but. . .it’s easier when it’s you.”

Azriel’s hand tightened around Elain’s at her confession. He wanted her to know that he felt the same way. There was no more looking for shadows to melt into, no more hiding smiles and hands in his pockets. With her, there was no hesitation.

So Azriel told her, without a single bit of doubt in his voice, “I’m not going anywhere, Elain.”

* * *

 

After they’d finished eating, neither Azriel or Elain had wanted the night to end. He dreaded having to take her back to her room, when all he’d be left with would be his own thoughts, circling around Elain, over and over. 

There would be no sleep for him tonight.

He didn’t know if it was simply wishful thinking, but he could feel Elain’s hesitation as well as he pulled her into his arms once more outside the greenhouse. Her eyes kept darting back, as if she didn’t want to leave. 

Azriel didn’t either. 

“What are you going to do with it?” she asked. 

Azriel hadn’t thought that far when creating the space. He’d only been thinking of Elain - something he could say for every moment of the last week alone. “I have no idea,” he answered. 

“Well, I could take the flowers. And put them in the garden at home.” 

Azriel blinked. For a second, it didn’t register, what she’d said. About Velaris, the flowers. 

But then it hit him. 

Home. She’d called it  _ home.  _

“Elain. . .” he started, wondering if it was just a slip-up, a careless mistake. 

But the color blooming on her cheeks, the quiet happiness in her eyes told him that it wasn’t. “Yes,” she simply said. “Tonight made me feel like. . .I  _ belonged  _ here. With you.”

Azriel felt like his heart was about to burst, could feel the heat on  _ his  _ own cheeks at her words. He could scarcely believe that they were real, that Elain could see so much in him. 

But she was here, holding onto him with small hands, bodice pressing into his. Staring at him with beautiful, deep brown eyes, honest and forthcoming. No lies. Only enfettered feeling that Azriel gave back, every single inch. 

His voice was a soft rasp, weighed down by everything about her, about tonight. “Thank you,” he said. 

And then he leaned down once more to take her lips, pouring every bit of happiness into that kiss, undiluted and real. Because he was here, and he was finally holding Elain in his arms, kissing her, and he was  _ happy.  _

For once in so long he was truly, genuinely  _ happy.  _ And in that moment, it felt like it could last forever.

* * *

 

He’d taken off into the skies with Elain, intending to bring her back to their  _ home _ (he’d never say the word the same way again), but he felt her awe as they passed over the glittering rainbow of the Sidra, a beacon of color and light in the midnight sky. 

“Have you ever seen the Sidra?” he asked, whispering into Elain’s ear. 

She shook her head, surprising Azriel. He’d assumed that her days here hadn’t  _ all  _ been spent in the confines of the town house, cooking and gardening. But then again, when was the last time he’d seen her go out? Or go anywhere at all besides her room, the kitchen, and greenhouse?

Azriel frowned. How could she consider this place her home without even seeing it? He didn’t want her to  _ put up  _ with Velaris, calling it home only for convenience’s sake. He wanted her to know every haunt, every pathway he’d taken his five hundred years of life to learn to love. He wanted her to wake up and look outside the window and know what she was looking like, to remember visiting every building and restaurant she saw. 

Suddenly, Azriel brought his wings in, swooping down towards the ground. Elain’s arms tightened around his shoulders reflexively at the change in movement. “What are you doing?” she asked. 

_ He  _ barely knew what he was doing either, only that he didn’t want to let her go just yet, and that he wanted to show her his world. Just so she would know what it meant to him, that his life was here, everything was here. Azriel wanted her to love it too. 

“We’re visiting the Sidra,” he replied, barreling down towards the colorful brick pathway. He softened his landing, flaring his wings, but the citizens walking by still stared as he touched down. 

Elain held fast to him, as if not wanting to let go and face the surroundings. There were no shortage of stares, murmurs about the pretty girl in the spymaster’s arms that his shadows could make out perfectly. It took every bit of his control not to grip her tighter at the whispers he heard, but he slowly relaxed his hold so she could slip out and get her balance on solid ground once more. 

And there was no mistaking the innocent wonder on Elain’s face as she drank in the sight around her. Beautiful, colorful storefronts with twinkling lights beckoned to late night shoppers, who were bustling around in their cloaks and capes. Flowers bloomed around circles of rainbow cobblestones, small fountains gurgling in the squares. There was an excited joy in the air, everyone darting from shop to shop, a regular nighttime pastime for many citizens. 

Azriel heard Elain’s breath hitch in her throat, eyes wide and sparkling. “It’s. . .beautiful,” she said after a long moment, as if finally finding her voice.

* * *

 

And Azriel almost wanted to laugh, almost wanted to kiss her right then and there, because that was exactly what he’d said when he’d seen it for the first time. 

They spent at least two more hours in and around the Sidra, perusing stores and vendors, occasionally stopping to talk to many shopkeepers that Azriel knew. He kept glancing over at Elain, trying to make sure that she was okay. Her world had revolved around so little of the town that he didn’t want her to feel overwhelmed or uncomfortable with such an unexpected trip. 

But he didn’t have time to doubt his decision, because Elain was positively glowing. He didn’t need his shadows to pick up on the happiness in her face, smiling at everyone they stopped to talk to, excitedly bouncing from store to store. It was as if  she had only been so closed off before because she hadn’t been  _ ready  _ to. Azriel was under no illusions that  _ he  _ was the reason for her new ease in conversation, the brightness in her eyes at being here, surrounded by people. . . but tonight had still been the happiest he’d seen her in so long. It took his breath away - her beauty, the life in her eyes. He thought that he had never felt more proud of another person than her, right then and there. 

They’d walked until Elain’s feet were aching, even in her new Fae body, so they bid goodbye to the shopkeeper of the tapestry store and Azriel took Elain into her arms to fly her home. She’d simply nuzzled into his jacket, completely content and relaxed. He didn’t mind her silence anyway, preferring to focus on her heartbeat, beating in time with his as they flew. Her breath, tickling his neck every time she exhaled. It calmed Azriel, having Elain so close as he flew, as if they were the only two people in the world, the only things that mattered. 

He’d wanted to make the flight last as long as possible, but the townhouse still drew closer with every flap of his wings. When they finally made it onto the balcony, Azriel’s hands lingered on Elain’s hips for longer than necessary to steady her. She didn’t seem eager to go either, silently staring up at him. As though if she didn’t say the words, it wouldn’t happen. 

Azriel sighed. “I suppose this is where I leave you,” he said, not wanting to tear his eyes away from Elain’s. 

She looked down, hair falling over her eyes. “I suppose,” she murmured back. Elain’s grip tightened on his arms, and then she looked up. “But it doesn’t have to be.”


End file.
